


This is how we dance, Isn't love? My sins and your Addictions...

by SpidersSpinning



Category: Sherlock BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpidersSpinning/pseuds/SpidersSpinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty is bored. John Is a passer by. One drink, two spins and three whole cuts. Jim or was it James? Either of which become entirely bored, a hunger over takes him and leads him to a celebration. John just happened to be the fate of happened chance. This road they take. Was it the right one? Will the dance end? Or will it simply go on?</p><p>Starting back up on updating!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bored!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer, I do not by any means own or have any say of SherlockBBC 
> 
> This is my first work here. (confetti!!!)  
> Yays!!!1  
> "Well that was very climactic," M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty is bored. John Is a passer by. One drink, two spins and three whole cuts. Jim or was it James? Either of which become entirely bored, a hunger over takes him and leads him to a celebration. John just happened to be the fate of happened chance. This road they take. Was it the right one? Will the dance end? Or will it simply go on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Yay, my first Fanfiction here!" *Confetti exploades*  
> Well that was completely Climactic. -JM  
> Oh, let him have his fun -JW  
> Only if you let me have my fun, Johnny Boy -JM  
> "Ok, we are not doing this during my big moment."  
> We this is Johnny's big something -JM  
> Try to ignore pervert, enjoy!!! Feel free to comment, kudos or simply sit back and read it as you like!!! Above all else? I just hope you enjoy <3 Ciao!!! <3

Chapter 1: Bored!

 

             Sebastian's line of work was not the honest nor the good Samaritan line of work, but it had its perks, and It had Its _cons_ , and this was certainly the top of the list. James Moriarty stormed through out the secondary flat in a rage. The moment the front door opened, Sebastian was hesitant to approach the man. A gun was thrown into a picture frame. Glass shards fell to the floor in a fashion that was unintelligent. 

“Bored! Why is everything so fucking _boring_!!!” Moriarty walked towards the kitchen. Silverware clunked and clashed. Cabinets slammed open, banged shut. Moran co 

Crash, went the five thousand dollar microwave. How an expensive reinforced mounted piece of electronics was ripped off the wall and sent through the kitchen window was a mystery. The next victim was the tv. Plates chucked from the kitchen to the far opposite wall of the living space. A butcher knife in hand, Moriarty walked off to his personal bedroom. There what sounded like a knife going through walls and expensive furniture played off and on, but then It stopped. Out stepped Moriarty in what seemed to be an entire mock of his attire. Moriarty wore beige pants and worn in T-shirt with a smiley face on it. With a pair of plain white sneakers, Moriarty looked around for something.

“Sebastian, I suggest you call Mathew to come get me before I start experimenting on where to surgically graph your left fingers.” My face winced in displeasure, my hand automatically reached for the briefer.

“Mr. Moriarty is requesting your services,” The hand held device clicked with a shh as the message was delivered. Moriarty was pacing back and forth at this point, his face sent in a twist of grunts, smiles, and aggravation. His fingers toyed with the button, remembering Mathew would be there soon to ease his night.

“Sebastian, why are you and everyone else so boring?” I knew better then answer the question, nor say anything at all. Moriarty picked a chair to harm next. The chair was smashed against a wall. A few lagging pieces flung towards him. Moriarty had begun to pace, a rut that sent fear into him. Like a snake slithering, plotting, deciding when what the right time to strike, sending its victim to a crashing fall. To see Moran's heart to beat no more. 

“I mean I have been I have been _sitting_ for _hours_ , and yet have I found a toy or game to play.” A knock on the vanilla colored door sent and overwhelming rush of sighs over me. Moriarty rushed his hand in his hair, giving it a look of untidy gratitude. The gods blessed him surely that night. Mathew arrived rather earlier then expected, but this was not taken for granted, when Moran all but let out a sigh Moriarty could not hear.

“Well I'm off, don't go killing yourself being boring and all!” With a slam of the door, he sat down on the floor. The flat felt empty and cold. The walls moaned, screaming, the scent of blood cascaded down the walls, tears seeped from them, hazy eyes fixed from them, lips met the corners. It was like the silence danced with he shadows webbed from their crevices. Nails on a chalk board. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _How many steps would I take down these stairs to the car? It seems so pointless, a cheap quick fix for my horrid condition._ Moriarty did not like how his head had been filled with noises. He did not like how Sebastian would not be easily replaced, had he took it out on him. He most certainly did not take much pleasure in how he would create suspicion should he blow up the neighbors.

Mathew for all his years of service and dedication, arrived in the same precise record time as he always had. The man was a willow, white hair surrounded the man's head, a modest attire with white gloves, a vest and slacks. The man was one of the few to care about him. He did not ask for a place or time, but simply drove off awaiting orders. The man knew Moriarty too well. He knew what homicidal looked like. The man never asked of what he was in the business of. He knew, he had been clever enough to figure out anything if not everything about him. He would do this for what would be hours and hours if told to do so. This was a man he could not replace. 

“Please find a random suburban populated area far from here. I am afraid I need some _air_  Mathew,” With out hesitation, Mathew began solving the command, trying to find the best possible out come. The man pulled up a map on the GPS. After several flicks, a few eliminated guesses, he finally herd a sound of self satisfaction. Mathew gave out a slight Ahh, the machine flickered off. 

The car was moving with the speed limit, sailing on the current of the highway before them. Like dragons, lights whirled through in spirals, sharp turns and near death fates. Boring people with boring lives passed by in a blur, he would be breaking them down, figuring them out for the brief moment they passed his life. This offered little to no satisfaction to him. It was mundane to him by this point of his life. Predictability was tedious at best. Where would he be taken? Mathew would pick something boring and common. A library that was open after dark could be a possible choice, maybe a Walmart. This had to be something he did not like nor think about on a daily basis. They pulled into a strip of shopping centers, a theater, and a.. A coffee shop? They stopped at a coffee shop. It was clear Mathew was waiting on being told if this was an acceptable choice. Without thought, he opened the door. The night air was cold. It taunted him nicely. Pulling his veins to the shop in front of him. Faces lined up in the chaos it offered him.

He left at the wave of my hand. The night invited him into a nightmare he would not escape with his life.

 

The coffee shop was not too small, and at a time late into the night, it was buzzling with life that should of died down by this time. Like a dance, he squeezed between crowds of people that grouped around the shop, offering bites of treats and sips of coffees. He had not particularly liked coffee. He in fact hated it a great deal. It was something you had to change an aspect to enjoy it fully. Tea however, one could drink it hot or cold, cream with sugar or fresh off the cup. Tea had its own desirable qualities.

Rows and rows had been occupied, the stalls crammed, some stools seated two people. It was packed. The back area had open seats due to its span from the from the direct service. There he saw a cozy nook in the back. Making his way around the painted faces and metal graced ones, he claimed his spot. It was the back left corner. He was content and unbothered by everyone else. Watching people simply live was starting to actually make a small dent in my condition. The next person after the previous was dressed in a different culture, different piercings, few had mask, but the general populace was painted one way or other.

A college student in uniform walked up to his nook, and handed him a menu. Wordlessly, he pointed to the boring black coffee. He was cold to the world, emotions got in the way of achieving what he wanted. Her breath had a sharp intake. She looked distraught at his emotionless expression and promptly left, catching the hint of her unwelcome presence. Laughter bursted from everywhere. Suddenly a crowed of people adorned with Jewelry, mask and light fabricated clothing entered, sitting down at the bar. Laughing, smiling and ordering drinks that would certainly keep their merriment going. The girl named, Karen set down his black nightmare. She warmly accepted his crumpled up two dollars and fifty cents. _If I'm a normal person, I need to have normal people accessories. What a boring load of reality._ He had his usual large sums filed away  in secret places on him.

              "I heard he has a new movie out, he will be playing a huge character Joann!" The redheaded teenage girl at the table next to him exclaimed to her slightly larger brunet friend he assumed had to be the "Joann" she spoke of. The girl sighed, looking into her coffee. Joann who had a family infliction recently played with a tablet. The redhead Was most likely a girl with a mother that put her dreams on the girl more so then she should have, leading to school pressures and lifestyle choices.

               "He is always someone  _big_ in his movies Jane. What is he this time? A doctor, scientist?" Joann's interest was ebbing away from whatever the topic had been. Jane seemed fueled to stoke the fires, to keep the night alive. The caffeine was prominent to anyone who looked their way, but she herself did not even notice the chemicals in her system, what had her attention was grave.

                "He plays as the big baddie main villain of sexxyness!!!!" Joann's eyes shattered, they did not widen, but simply had no eyelids left. Her gaze was still. It was too still for his taste. Her mouth parted slightly. It began to attempt to give out words. Then  he heard it. Screams between teenage girls that were wasting their school night over coffee and some Hollywood actor from the 

 

 "I got a call from Namie earlier this morning. She wanted to know how her Nelly was. I was glad to tell her I was doing good and that her over worried mother that missed her dearly had not forgotten about her. I also let her know we were in London. She wants pictures."  A lesbian couple had been sitting in front of him. The scent of Cara _mel_ and Cinnamon sat between the two lovers. The short dark haired one whom had just finished declaring news of her step daughter, smiled into her tea cup. They were chatting about where to move next, how their daughters were doing, but what escaped a lot was the concern of if they are truly ready to make it on their own or not. This clearly a new chapter of their life. 

                "She is off to college, doing her work to be a business women, and Ribbon will be expecting a baby soon. So much is happening while we have our own adventure Nel." The gorgeous woman with multiple colored hair smiled at the woman he could not get a decent look at. Beautiful rosy rings held onto her fingers. The woman directly in front of him named Nel took her hand. It was the softest voice. It was so reassuring. "Trust me Jay Bird, everything will be just fine for those intelligent babies you raised. No body will ever come to high enough for them, now let us just hope they find love," He could hear how emminant that smile had been from the Woman Nel.

The twinsies erupted again into screams. The couple laughed at them silently. A teenage boy with eyeliner _EVERYWHERE_ was laying against a wall to the right, cold & lifeless as chemicals of all sorts pumped through his veins. A few preppy girls walked back and forth, not noticing, Squiling girls, pure love, druggie waste, and the crowed around him. So many things he was processing, he found a nice little decent fix for himself to ease the pain that ate away at his mental state slowly. This did not by any means fix the problem. He could not find something worth his pain so cheap without paying a heavy price. It was no wonder he would almost miss what was happening next.

Something passed him, a rather familiar face entered the establishment. A one Mr. John Hamish Watson whom was wearing a soft white and brown jumper, black pants to throw off the outfit. It was questionable the choice of clothing he had chose, but he fitted in through the crowed all to well with the jesting of strangers. He looked like a pigeon in a flock of peacocks. He moved unnoticed. oblivious to the world around him. Searching for a place to sit. He would find a place, only for it to become occupied not a moment later, he wavered through int and out of such a crowd, until found the same reality that Jim had recently discovered himself. The back was less occupied. 

 

He sat down to the right of James. Completely unaware of his presence. A different woman attended to him. The teens were whispering to each other about something they deemed  _scandalous_. John made little to no acknowledgement towards them.  He made a series of gestures, speaking out small a subtle request. He laid his face in his hands as soon as she left to fill his order. Only little bits and pieces were herd by Moriarty's ears, but surely he herd a sufficient amount to break down what had been ordered. His order consisted of 20% sugar. 40% vanilla flavored creamer, and 40% Spanish espresso coffee. The cup had been a decent size, a small pastry to the right. John sighed heavy into the sweet concoction. The smell traveled to him. The memory of the order replayed.  _20:40:40_  John was sighing rather often, only when his lips touched the drink did he seem to come back to life. There was no fight in him. He was completely and utterly distraught.  _20:40:40_ John was trying to look at a book he had in his pocket. The book looked more like a dime novel then something you would see on the shelf in a bookstore. It had roughly 120 pages. The way his finger tips glided through the pages was drawing in his attention. He stopped dropping in on the annoying teenage girls obsessing now on Norse incest.  _20:40:40_ His sighs were strangled.  _Worry lines/ Messy hair/  Eyes unfocused/ 4th cup of coffee/ Tense/ uneven breathing/  Result of Sherlock/ Emotion/ Stressed/ _20:40:40__  
The same number haunted him over and over.

_Wait, why am I remembering something as boring and useless as this?_

_So Johnny boy likes his coffee rather sweet huh?_

_I would not of deduced that possibility._

His face twisted in frustration, guilt nibbled at his lips, the very idea he thought of something so boring stung at him. _20:40:40_  He seemed to contemplate it , but then scold himself at the same time. His own coffee remained untouched, sitting lonely The ghost that pretended he himself had a real reason to be there. Slipping between realities, one that held its own. 

He needed an escape from this ferocious monstrosity. The place had left him occupied for about two hours. That was well over more time he had expected to stay. It no longer offered shelter, but battered him with oppressive feelings that carved away at him. So he needed an escape,  to pick at it, cutting it out with little to no effort.  A small Idea popped in his head. He could distract John, with John's emotions no longer fascinating him, he could leave, then find his next game to play. It was simple, but brilliant in the least. His mind began its daunting task of executing his desired result.

He walked up to the bar in hopes to avoid Johnny boy's attention. There he could hear the eccentric jolly troop boast and sing. He made eye contact with the lady at the register.

“Give me a piece of paper and a pen.” Her eyes widened and her hands complied with disbelief at his demands he made towards her. He pulled out his wallet for the night and pulled out several slips of currency from the hidden compartment in case his ruse is compromised. He scribbled down the Watson's name, leaving out his middle name. 

“The man sitting in the back with the jumper , I would like to set a monetary prepaid tab for him. I would be pleased to have this sum of money placed on it. Also this order is for him. That would be all.” She had her pretty pathetic mouth wide open in rather disbelief. A few people stopped juggling cups. It was a brief silence that was unnoticed by the rest of the chatter the shop produced. 

“Who should I say it is from?” She tried to ask before he left the door. He had no further use for her, she became boring. Just as John had, or the lesbian couple with family issues.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Outside, he could see the light spreading across John's face as she explained the massive prepaid coffee credit he just received. Before walking away, he saw john trying to believe what just happened. He gladly was gone before John went out into the streets to hunt down whomever it had been that would be so generous. _Maybe the big M on the note would throw him off?_ He did not honestly care. John became boring, he served no purpose anymore.

 

Beggars on the street gladly took his money. People strode along laughing. Small stands with antics, cute older merchandise. Woman dressed as Gypsies. One stopped him before he could get much farther down the road. She was older, of Sicilian decent no less. Darker purples and reds were draped around her shoulders, shadowing her face in an older way. Thousands of silver and gold rings decorated her fingers, embedded with stones from all over the world. Each a different color, shapes none alike the next. She wore a silver necklace with quartz and amethyst held in the master piece. The eyes that stared into him were dark, void and glassy. Reminding him of marbles more so than the organs they were.

             "Watch for the light of the waters edge. Drowning in this, do not bath in Earl Grey! For if you do. All you have done will fall around you." The woman's eyes showed dread in him. They twitched as he handed her five dollars. The rings on her fingers jingled as she refused, unable to accept his money for the words she proclaimed in riddles that rolled off her tongue. He stared at her carefully as she released him from her grip, walking away from her slowly. Her face relaxed as he passed away.

A man handed out a chicken head in his face, offering it for ten dollars. So many weird things had been offered alongside the unexplained set of people. It was a sight out of a wicker book. Like a street littered with exotic trading. A different time it offered. Soft words swayed from person to person with visitors of the prospects he glimpsed. Laughs tickled by non-believers, and awe had been exclaimed by those whom took each piece seriously.

 The smell of food, the sound of music wound through the streets, it would be a mystery if he did not happen upon the strange events that would come along. Each note he recorded, he wanted to remember it. It sounded remorseful. The piece left remains of something grand passing by. It felt like the brief pagan festivals he witnessed as a child when he visited his mundane family in Ireland. 

He casually walked in on a plaza filled with drunken people singing loudly, all were masked, dancing fiercely. He could spot cultures from Asia to Brazil in the clothing, masks, and of course language spoken before him in the mass of diversity, all the vendors that laughed even sold a mass variety. The smells of the world clashed and danced in harmony. Slowly he leaned against the oddly displaced tree in amusement. Someone just tripped and sprained their ankle, while two others just passed out, and something made of glass broke somewhere in the crowd, casualties to fun perhaps. No doubt it would be broken down finely with the amount of people stepping on it before it could do any real damage.

The music was constantly changing beats and rhythms, which in turn, the people whom obeyed to its control conformed as well. A soft synchronization that  was off, but kept in line with the ideal movement of each beat. It left his a bit disoriented, slightly watching the shifts and changes, which is why he had been left off guard for that moment when- 

 

Suddenly he was pulled into the crowd, a mask placed on him, and a drink in hand. Furious he sought to leave, but a wall of so called _fun_ prevented him from _not_ enjoying his time.  _I hate double negative situations like this shit._  
 _Might as well do what I came to do.._

He took several gulps from the wine through the open mouth slot. Some of the drink spilled on him, giving off a scent of his guilty game. Suddenly a man pulled him close for a dance.  _Well this is an interesting turn of events._

The man felt it was his right to grope on him, turn him fast enough to spill the drink a little more: bite marks littered his neck, the smug faces of his fellow dancers stuck at him as they to faced the same twisting steps, almost colliding by chance. The man had darker hair, small curled lips.  _32 years, weight:154, works an accounting position, married:wife:4 kids: two highschool:one elementary: one middle. Boring._

He broke away from his  _partner_ to escape from being presented as a trophy to the man's night.  _Pathetic & Disgusting Pions.   
_

 _Note to self, have all underground celebration participants found and disposed_ of.

Another gentleman took the empty opportunity he now presented, lacking a dance partner.

Faking his enjoyment, he reciprocated this for some odd minutes. He grabbed Moriarty's waist and spun him, this gave Moriarty the opportunity to _spin_ out of the crowd. Walking over a vender for some bread, his cup was refilled without question or warning. So many casualties in these events. So many sins and lies. By the fourth cup he felt slightly buzzed. His boredom continued so aggressively, eyes searched for a distractions, running away from it with drinks and people laughing nearby him. It crawled out from under a shadow without warning. The pulse of his veins annoyed him, the rhythm, the speed, the warmth they masqueraded, only to be known to have a harsh slush underneath its own mask. 

 With a glass in hand, he left his spot, searching for a suitable fix, men, music, predictable people, he gave no notice or care for as they let in and out of his view. 

He strode over to a convenient alleyway. He paced Himself till he was in for a nice distance. He threw the glass at the wall. Fine shaped shards fell his way. Picking them up, he lifted his sleeve. Eyes focused on the hundreds of neat rows. Each recalling a time he had nowhere else to run to. 

The edges bit into his skin, drinking up the ribbons of scarlet that came tumbling down. The adrenalin came rushing in, and almost in a second, the pressure went away. The was no more noise in my head, no more poison in my mind giving me the hardest time simply because I had nothing interesting to hold my attention too. Surely noise was still there, but it was low enough to ignore. The cut laid in an uneven pattern, unlike its predecessors. 

Reaching around he carved another into his shoulder. This time it went much deeper. He let out a gasp. He began to dig under the first one to apply a third. In mid cut, he felt the oddest thing. It was a pressure, but it felt completely out of place.

 

There in the darkness with his eyes closed in release, he felt soft warm hands pull his hand away from his arm. The glass slid out of his possession. He opened his eyes slowly to meet with the face he did not expect to see. Panic overcame him. Those feelings receded as he heard the sound of a shirt being torn into strips. Rip, rip, rip, rip, rip,rrip, and after the last was taken, the man's shirt looked tattered. Alcohol was poured slowly at his wounds while fingers carefully massaged into his cuts. Taking in a great deal of consideration for his physical condition. They were sanitized and cleaned of impurities by the motions. Next the cloth was applied, tied six times to cover the area of infliction. He would normally be angry and furious to be denied the pleasure, made to stop what he was doing he enjoyed so much, but at any time he could have refused and fought back, regaining his right to tear away at himself silly.

_I can stop this now. I can end this obstruction, this impedance. So why can't I struggle nor fight it?_

 

Because this was no other man, This was John Hamish Watson. 

Certainly his mask would not give his identity away, but suddenly a hand reached up to lift his mask up, he lifted his hand pathetically in protest, but made almost no progress to fight it. The lack of blood left him weak. It stopped and rested on his nose, assuring the upper half of his face would remain hidden. Moriarty breathed a silent sigh of relief at the remainder of his hidden identity.

 

 

 

John leaned in and gently pressed his lips against his. They lingered there and pulled away. They came back, fingers pressing his lips more open, the attack on his mouth was caring and loving. It was nothing like those of the strangers he earlier encountered by chance as he did now. They moved slow, a movement that asked for permission, linger slow, hesitant, showing they would leave even sooner then they began if protest would arise. They laced on him as though he was a fragile glass flower, on that would shatter under the slightest of pressures. Then they promptly stopped as sudden as they started. The look on John's face looked broken and left in ruins. Scared like his own arms he had carefully designed. The image burned into his very being.

“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything that was said, the things your virgin ears heard. What those people did, and how you were treated. I am so sorry you have to result to this to feel better. This poison that is inside you. You have no way to get it out, but somehow you find a way. The most destructive and damaging way.” the last two words hung in the air, taunting Moriarty. John's arms suddenly wrapped around him, tightening as he I would let go in a seconds notice without a warning. His eyes welled up with tears, in seconds they fell on James, but no they fell not on James or Mr. Moriarty, but they fell on Jim, the long lost innocent soul that laid dormant inside his mind. A useless one sedated with facts and figures.

He could feel John's heart beat; in comparison, his own was slower, softer a great deal. Like snakes, John's warmth slithered around him: drinking in the man's scent.  

For a moment he felt suspended on a wire, hanging above the rest of the world, lighter than air had been able to achieve. Safer than Heaven could provide.

The sobs came, and Jim was left without protest, just fell in a slump and accepted the affection.

John placed a soft kiss on his lips, letting his mask to slide back into place. Concealing his features once more.

He slid his thumb under the mask and gently wiped away the tear that collected.

His presence ended as soon as it began. He left him there, unable to process the events. Bandaged, warm, and unable to move. 

He reached in his pocket for the cellular device. He pressed three and hit enter. Still slumped against a wall, he awaited.

“Mathew, I require your services.” He shut the flimsy flip phone, and he pushed up the receiver so that he would be located by his faithful driver.

Still slumped against a wall, he awaited the arrival of his faithful driver.

 

 


	2. I love this madness, take me under, drown me in the Insanity. The dance soon begins.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm being eaten inside. I can't control myself. This monster is breaking form my rib cage, please stop me before I'm consumed by it. Neither of which could stop themselves from it. Scream all you want. Nothing can save you from the events to transpire. You have already sold your soul, just by digging deeper into this.
> 
> What consumed them would be the inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So I am super happy, because I already got over 50+ hits!!! and two kudos!!!!!!!!!! =^'^=  
> You really should not encourage him, he goes a bit over board on the sign of acknowledgement-JM  
> Oh, shut up you, you know it is cute and you will admit it!-JW  
> I will admit you are cute Johnny boy, especially when you wea- JM
> 
> Will you two not spoil my moments and events to come for my Darling Readers!??!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!!?  
> Anyway, ignore them, and feel free to bookmark, comment on how you feel and leave any of your favorite moments! <3 much love, Te Amo!!!  
> Ciao <3

 

This so had to be the night of John's life. After leaving to get cereal for Sherlock that was not in any of the stores, picking up the dry-cleaning, disposing of the expired  _experiments_  and picking up the new parts that would be scattered around the flat in less then  _twenty four hours;_ after all of this, he was told to leave promptly for no reason given. So this was returned with leaving for coffee. The coffee shop had been two blocks from the flat.

 

Several blokes were chatting up some lady dressed in too much red for my taste. It was not the coffee that made his night, nor was it the credit some anonymous person had placed on his account. No doubt Mycroft had something of the sort to do with the strange occurrence. It was something entirely different.

 

...

 

Laughs danced around in the air, music played like the time that was changing and evolving as it went. The sound of feet hitting the cobblestone streets echoed through out the night. The smell of alcohol was painted along the corners of the English buildings. Screaming mixed around with other audible noises.

Surely there were some morals hidden in the crowd of people. Glass littered the glass in a fine dust. No one could care less about the shards beneath their feet. All of this one some form of sinful enjoyment, but as he passed an alley way, he saw someone crumpled against a wall. There in the slightest hint of light, he could see several trickles of blood streaming down the man's arm. The intake of breath I felt was icy, laced with rust. I am entirely not sure what compelled me to begin ripping up my good under shirt, but it was almost automatic, like the good doctor he was. He reached for the alcohol he saved for later, scrubbing the wounds thoroughly. His finger nails slightly played with the edges of skin created by the cuts. Hisses of anger and hatred sound through the walls.

 

 

The cuts were dangerously deep, almost careless and they bled out a good deal. Older scars were arranged in neat rows. My eyes sting at the sight, and in the pit of my stomach filled with something of sympathy and regret. The tips of my fingers acted almost on their own.  _You're the freaks toy. We're not a couple. I'm not actually gay. Wha-what. excuse me?_ Despite the protest that sounded in my head, they lifted the poor blokes mask, just enough to expose the lower half of his face. With no warning, he leaned in to steal a kiss. It wasn't imposing, nor was it offensive. Just a small innocent stolen kiss. It was meant to be a sweet kind soft small occurrence, but before I knew it, I was forcing myself to take more, deepening the kiss, their breaths became ragged. It was then that the tears fell. They came harsh and bitter. A taste of sour laced around on them, and soon enough my mouth allowed word after word of pain and remorse, regret, sympathy, for the man he did not even know the whole face of. This moment bore a feeling that went against all my notions of sexuality. Went beyond what was the rational thing to do. Listen John Hamish Watson, you are in a dark alley with a drunken stranger who just cut himself, his blood is on your hands and you are kissing him. He could be doing drug or have diseases of all sorts! You would think I could be rational, but that was the reality of this night. The  _best_  night  _ever_.

 

He tasted like mint, and his lips trembled in disbelief. His body felt warm, inviting. It seemed almost over in an instant of it all happening. His mind was screaming no, but his body was crying yes. A confliction of his own self. Some how, some way, John had found himself bearing this love and understanding of this stranger. It was all to real. Beyond this point his body acted all on its own. Wiping away the mans tears, he left him in the hopes he would be alright.

 

His brain was overwhelming him, his feet danced faster then the music that returned to his mind as he escaped from the events that  _Burrned_ images into his head. Memories grew louder then the music, his heart desperate to distance itself from the infliction that was the masked man. That smell was familiar, almost close to personal. The scent that came off the man had seemed almost second nature to him.

 

Stares from people became useless and uncared for as he rushed himself around one corner to the next. Down this alley, around that block, and down the street.

 

221B Baker street

                                                      

 

  
John had found himself irrational, careless, and almost unable to understand anything that was taking place along the skim of his brain. His feet lifted up the steps, and to his bathroom. The smell of old soap filled the air, replacing the scent he savored thirty minutes behind him. Fingers flicked at the knob, feet pushed the door shut, and began the frantic puling at what remained of his clothes. A torn shirt, bloody jumper and muddy pair of black pants, and mostly made a mess of his knickers.

 

A shower curtain made the noise of protest as he dragged it across the track.

White enclosed the entire room. No other color except the assorted generic products and blue toilet seat cover could be seen. He dragged himself into the shower, and as the spray hit his back, he let out a sigh. He could breath, his muscle became undone, and with the water falling down onto his face, he saw not only the events that took place, but his mind could wonder over all that could happen, sitting, watching the telly with this man, cooking him breakfast and even falling asleep together. A pound to his own leg, nails digging into his sides, and gritting his teeth, he fought the idea, and he fought the fact he just let go of him. He could of gotten to know him, seen where it would take them and even maybe he could fix whatever was wrong in the man's life, but no. John had left him and he may never get the chance again to feel those lips, how desperate and grateful they were to feel love.  _Good going Mr. Watson, you had one chance, one fucking chance and now? Now it is gone and it won't ever come back._

 

He reached for the shampoo and conditioner. Working the mix into his hair, he felt hatred fall from his eyes, it burned in the path it left behind. The smells of the chemical hair product rinsed out with his frustrations. Little snakes, streams, rivers trailed down his body. He shut the water off as soon as his hair had become devoid of the product and oils.

 

Reaching for a white towel, he looked into the mirror. He sighed once more, before patting himself dry. He would walk across the hall to his bedroom and grabbed a pair of loose fitted clothes. Slipping under the covers, he drifted off on a bittersweet note. One he felt was pure sugar and the other sour venom.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

John had definitely gone crazy. He got up rather fast, he found a nice fitting jumper, a white pair of pants, and some slippers to wear. His foot steps felt lighter the usual, and of course he was hungry, so he made breakfast and put a pot of tea on while he waited for the one egg, two slices of bacon and one thing of toast no butter had finished accumulating onto his breakfast plate. He caught himself whistling? Yes, a soft low whistle and a hum to go along with it. He would have the day off from his small part time position at Bart's Hospital. He dropped tree sugars into his tea, some milk, and grabbed his plate. Nothing at all seemed to give off he had went crazy. He had become utterly insane, loony of sorts, because when he sat down in his favorite chair, the strangest thing happened. He set his plate down casually onto the coffee table. Despite the strong smell coming from the bacon alone, he caught the faintest familiar scent. He almost forgot to set his cuppa down, but he stopped himself from spilling it in time. Setting it down, he leaned into the soft old plush wooden chair. The smell tried to hide, but soon it grabbed a hold of him, filling his brain with feelings, and the memories, oh the memories came rushing back to him violently. He could not contain how strong and ruthless they came to him. This was it! This is the scent of the man, but how?  _This isn't right. Oh god I’ve become terrible mad. I have descended into madness, my sanity has left the building._

It played a sick joke on John, for he would look like a drug addict to the outside world, because without realizing it, he was inhaling the chair rather strongly in long deep inhales, but he remained oblivious until, he herd a certain high-functionin Sociopath clear his throat.

 

A look of shame and embarrassment crossed his face. He was a little buzzed off the smell itself. He offered no explanation. He simply straightened out his jumper and began eating. Like always, Sherlock ignored it and started working on something really important, like why he was about to put eyeballs in my tea pot.  _Wait what?_

“Hey, my kettle is not for you-” and a normal day began, despite the horrible reality of him becoming crazy.

 

 

,,,

 

 

 

(James POV)

It was a nice morning. He woke up to the strangest craving for sweet and creamy coffee. He would page someone for it. He got up, and realized something. The noise, was gone. It had not hit him until now. Since he was kissed by Johnny boy.  _Wait, I kisssssssed Johnny boy?!_

There ad been no noise at all. He felt no boredom, nothing. He felt nothing. He could feel anything he so wished.

 

This was, this was, this was goooood. He could almost see it now. John in a dog collar, with a cute puppy dog face.

 

_No, I simply cannot bother myself with cute mental images of Johnny boy this early in the day. I have waaaaay to much to do._

The flat seemed quite, but there was high doubt it was due to lack of people. He could be assured there was at the least ten people to attend the meeting scheduled for to day. Lifting himself up, he began to call out orders.

“Sebast-” He got up and simply got dressed instead. He wouldn't notice the small changes in his attitude and demeanor for quite some time.

  
He didn't reach for the best suit, nor the flashiest watch or tie. He put on an acceptable attire, and left his room for the kitchen. Walking past a crowd of people who suddenly became terrified towards him as though they were just caught doing stuff they should not have done. He didn't blame them, he almost had a smirk to show his amusement. He had to make his own fresh coffee, because the microwave was inconveniently outside at the moment.  _Note to self:_ _fire_ _housekeeper for not replacing microwave._

The machine would not go any faster, so he settled for preparing the sugar and creamer. He could feel stares as he was seen pouring sugar into the cup and creamer settled in it. He could even feel them widen as he mixed the contents together, the dark liquid became a lovely cream color. He stood there pondering.  _Maybe a nice donut, or an eclair would do this justice. I should get some tea._ Then it happened, I snapped.

“What, can I not get some fucking coffee without being looked at like I might kill you for breathing on my sofa?” His hands gestured to the coffee pot.  _Oh god,what did I just say?_

 _“I'm sorry, I-I haven't slept, lets reschedule, shall we gentlemen?”_ Faces filled with a mix of fear, pain, confusion, and compliant obedience. They surely backed off, they didn't even ask for a time or date.One by one, they left promptly, and without a second thought.  _I have gone sane. I'm completely sane. I am fucking having a breakfast socially in my living room with my hired help._

“Mr. Moriarty, I suggest you try to calm your self down.” _He landed a hand on me? When did he think he could do that. Oh who am I kidding, this feels nice._

“Sebastian, shift our assets from researching Sherlock to Johnny boy. I think he just might be very valuable to me after all.” A devilish smirk spread across his face, till nothing but malice had plastered on his face.

 

All of Moriarty's Intel would be rushing around trying to change the full focus to john. They would try their best to make up for the little they do not know about this man. It was not strange to them he wanted to know anything about him. Where he worked, shopped, the bars he frequented. Moriarty wanted to know about the man who was a drug.

 

So his day was spent on learning about little John boy. Despite the fun it presented, he did have other things to attend to.

 

 

…

A week later 

 

(Irene Adler POV)

It was always flattering for a Woman like Irene Adler to requested on such special terms.

“I need you to distract Sherly, while I set my eyes on a much, bigger prize.”  _Hmm, this should prove to be rather interesting._

 _“_ and, may I ask what prize this is?”  _aaaaaah, there is the look of annoyance. Seems like papa found a new toy and he doesn't want big for brains getting his hands in the matter._

She would like to dig more, and taste that spicy backlash, but she would take a job where she had to. Picking up the folder, she left the office.

 

 

…

Two weeks later 

 

(Sherlock POV)

He wasn't quite sure as to why John had been inhaling the furniture two weeks earlier, nor was he sure why Irene Adler paid him a visit late into the evening. She had black lace that hugged her mid-waist.

“Hello Sher-lock.” She made a point to cut up his name in an attempt to woo him, but she knew better then anyone else to not bother with such an attempt. There was only one lucky heart that could bring him to a sapp. That would be his dear Watson. He brushed her off and went back to whatever he was previously doing to a pair preserved hands.

“Oh, Sherlock my dear, do you want to talk?” He gave her a look that said;  _are you still here?_

“What could you possibly tell me that would interest me more then this very unstable experiment?” He gestured to the scene before her.

“Your brother's sex life.” His eyes lit up like Christmas.  _That got a reaction._

She reached inside her purse for an envelope containing a scandal to be seen.

“and who could be  _brother_  possibly be shagging?” She felt a great sense of pride for her gift to obtain knowledge of what even the most genius of people could not find nor figure out.

_Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. I'm afraid this is going to be easy enough for me._

_“_ I'm sure a one Mr. Greg Lestrade rings a bell? I know Mycroft rings his bell.” His look was still priceless.

 

He tried to prepare himself so he wouldn't give her the reaction she wanted, which would indeed dull his reaction.

 

,,,

 

 

(John's POV)

It was a nice night out, the Tesco was filled with people. There were people who were from Asia, American, and even Australia. He could of sworn he saw over two thousand people. He could of passed faces from his childhood, and people he could of made friends or acquaintances with, but he had to see the one person he didn't want to see.

“Hey Johnny boy. I see you have oranges, did you know oranges have highly flammable peels?” John instinctively smacked his forehead.There sitting  _on_  the meat section was not only the man who strapped a bomb to me to see Sherlock's reaction, but the worlds most dangerous man in history, James Moriarty.  _Why me. Why am I always stuck with the short end?_

“Oh come one, lighten up a Johnny. Its not like I’m going to try to blow you up again.” He tried ignoring him. Do not look back and get the flour. He apparently he could not succeed in that, because when he would pick up an item, Moriarty would begin reading the list of ingredients without looking at said item.

“Fine, what do you want?” John tossed the flour in the cart. Moriarty was making several gestures to portray himself pondering.

“I simply want a play mate. Someone I can just talk to. You know the boring bloke stuff you boring people do.” John gave a sigh of disprovable frustration.

“Like you will get any of that from me? Besides, I thought Sherlock was more interesting?”

Moriarty seemed to take a great pleasure from what John said. He pretended to hunched over in laughter.

“You see Johnny boy, Sherlock is no longer of interest, because he is the same, always predictable, and that gets a little old, don't you think?” John remained calm, and continued his shopping wearily of the criminal master mind.

“and what makes you think I will comply?” He gave the man a look. Moriarty's eyes widened and a grin spreaded wide.

“Because you have nothing better to do Johnny,” His nickname burned into his already agitated mind. He gave a frustrated look that showed his level how done he was with Moriarty.

As he neared the register, Moriarty began taking groceries to the counter without a word. A strange silence spread between them both. It became very painful. John wasn't sure if Moriarty noticed him observing him, but he did not show an signs of it. He had frown lines, his eyes had bags under them due to lack of sleep or worry.

“What did you have in mind?”  _I'm going to regret everything I am saying right now. What will Sherlock think if he knew I was about to be closer acquainted with the worlds most evil and powerful man alive._

“I think I will pick you up at nine tomorrow.” Moriarty knew this buried under his skin. He had no control, no way of preparing for what was about to happen. He could not leave behind breadcrumbs. Moriarty knew what it did to him, and that smirk proved him right.


	3. Maybe I'm crazy too? Will you still dance with me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am not losing it! I have everything under control! Everything works out, because I want it to." Moriarty is clearly losing it, but is he crazy? It might be clear for others but for the man who has sleeping with a stolen Jumper? It was beyond oblivious. 
> 
> For Moriarty, he has never been without control, this may be the end of what little is between them both, if anything exhisted in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I not tell you to encourage him? It was only a few days ago he updated. Now with 100+ hits, 7 kudos and a bookmark, he fought night and day to update this fast -JM
> 
> I understand the concern, but let his have his fun and small fits! -JW
> 
> "Guys, it is ok, I'm just really really happy to get everything out of my head and down on paper.
> 
> Yeah, but think of how much the quality is effected! -JM  
> You forget that he is getting better, figuring out his own little system, re-edits his previous chapters without people noticing, and he is gradually increasing page length of each chapter. Let him breath -JW
> 
> Oh Johnny boy, how ABOUT I let you take a breather from Suc- JM
> 
> "Will you stop spoiling the future smexy smex?!?!?!?!"
> 
> If you would write something hot soon, I wouldn't have to resort to this profanity -JM
> 
> "Fine, sooooon, but nothing serious. There is such a thing as proper devolpment between people, and I am trying so hard to achieve it for my Darling readers." 
> 
> Anyway!!! Enjoy, comment, kudos, bookmark, whatever!!! Just spread the love back around. Enjoy this cute chapter for me at the very least, k?  
> Ciao <3

 

A week and two days earlier

 

...

 

_(Moriarty's POV)_

_Such a lucky opportunity! I am surely not going to get a chance like this again. Well done Sherlock._

Moriarty was in the midst of walking up the steps of a flat on Baker street. Well it wasn't _a_ flat, but _the_ flat. It was the flat that John shared with Sherlock. All week he had told Moran that he wasn't becoming _obsessed_ with the poor Watson, but merely intrigued by his unpredictable personality, which was a rare sight for him. Moran had been around long enough to see every man Moriarty encountered was laid to waist and their actions predicted so easily. He would hope Moran would understand where he was coming from, but alas he had to break into 221B _alone._

The doorknob barely alerted the empty flat of his presence, and only dust on the mantle, the dismembered body parts around the space and the smell of tea greeted him. He had several men attempting to find the exaclt layout of the flat, but to no avail, he would have to deduce where Sherlock would sleep, unless they slept together. _No we are not concluding that Jim._

It felt cold, but as he would catch an item in his view he knew had to belong to the doctor alone, he would record the findings into the archive in his mind labeled John. Usually it would be a subject or per name, but he tried for hours to try to change it, but he could not, just as he could not delete it. It had appeared one day. He wasn't sure when, but it had happened well before the incident in the alley.

_Now if I were a sexy cute thing like John Watson, where would I sleep? Somewhere safer, no where near a fire exit, no somewhere he could not be easily attacked from behind or either side._

_Ahh, Johnny boy, you are something._

He settled on the upper room to be his pets room. Under his cuffs established a holding place for a neat silver tool to help break into what he needed to. It was a common doorknob, which gave way within seconds of his tools administrations.

A heavy combative aroma waved in the room, he recognized it anywhere, it belong to a very soft and alluring guy. The scene was simple, a dresser, a table, bed, comforter, a lamp and a bed side table. It drifted around him, almost unreal. He was here for one thing, and one thing only.

 

 _I bet he likes the ones that make him look cute, then the ones that suite him more. I won't complain, which ever is worn in the most is fine by me._ Fingers searched and searched the pile of clothing for the treasure he desired. He by no means was a pervert. He although could not help himself.

_Yes, this looks like he wears it all the time, must be his favorite pair. I will only take one, besides taking a favorite that has been cherished this much must be suspicious enough..._

Time was not a luxury, the small goose chase he has them on would only keep them away for so long, before Sherlock realized it was nothing and a waste of his time. John would no doubt curse and come home for something more relaxing.

 

He spun his heals towards the hall, closing John's door behind him, Jumper in hand. A small shuffle of his own feet, he was beaming with a joy that he had run out of recently. He would be out of the flat in a mere matter of seconds. A care pulled up to the flat's entrance, and with that he departed. A long day deserved a nice reward. His fingers typed away. Moran, please be a dear and draw Daddy a bath, and ooooooh some nice Lavender oil -JM

 

He expected nothing less then candles, hot water, scented oil in his bath and bubbles. He loved the sight of bubbles. A small thirty five minute ride was all it took for him to arrive to his temporary residence. A bath as promised. Nothing short of ideal. A warm glimmer from the downward hallway invited him with the promise of sinful pleasure. Flames danced as he grew closer. Shapes were born, and death followed suite. Hands touched the walls, making their decent into the chambers. His eyes casted on his bath first. It had a glow infused in its contents. Like a waterfall cascading, his clothes shed, one by one, each article containing a soft silk under layer. A Westwood did him justice. His skin felt ever so soft being freed from its confinements. Slowly he dipped his feet in, the warmth ensnared him crawling up his leg like a nasty snake going in for the kill. Another leg hung over into the bath, he left go, sitting down was not the best way of putting it. It seemed like sliding into the water, and letting all his air from his lungs. He laid there, under the glow and water. Closing his eyes, he smiled. What a dangerous game, slowing down one's heart beat to sustain without breathing is one thing, but to do so in an intoxicating condition such of this risked fainting and drowning. _It does not matter, either way, air or water, I am afraid I am indeed drowning. The fact I’m submersed changes nothing._

Later on, no doubt he would be wearing his jumper to sleep. Coaxed into actual dreams by the fading fragrance stitched into it.

 

…

A week earlier

 

 

It had been a Thursday. James had a very important prearranged tradition on these days, and he would attend promptly. The car stopped in front of the white building.

 

...

 

221B Baker Street

 

 

He pulled out his set of key, set the blue one in the door and turned. He entered the flat quietly, and walked up the stairs in a familiar way, but this time would be different, instead of thinking of how to mess with Sherlock, his mind was preoccupied with images of the dear Watson. Trails left by oils lined the walls, he could deduce which ones they were, given the size, color and pattern. He became almost mesmerized by them as they began and ended and began again with out a warning. His feet arrived at the door. Turning the doorknob, he instantly could smell tea, he almost hoped it was the work of John, but he knew all too well that Sherlock would of devised something to have him out for the day, and John would not even notice.

 

He casually walked into the living space and sat down in a chair. It was old, a darker colored wood, and more cotton and stuffing then anything else. He laid back a small portion, allowing his spin to give in. A sigh escaped his breath, and was replaced with a strange feeling. The cotton was soft, he was sinking back into the fabric, but it was something else. Something he could not notice, until now. There was a scent. A soft malice sense that teasingly waffed around his nose. He nonchalantly leaned in to get a better grasp at it before it fell from his hands again. All at once, before he could pull back, before he knew what has going on, it dug its claws into him, it drug him under its blanket of comfort laced venom. Crashing into its cotton, he inhaled deeply, leaving torn sighs and jagged moans. Nails scrapped at the exterior as he clawed at it desperately. Suddenly, he felt a weeks distress melt away with the dust filling him, and his slow unearving end was far from his pressent mind. It was instead, filled with the comfort of knowing where he sat, that this was the place a lovely Mr. Watson had frequented when he had a moments peace.

“So I take it is contagious,” His eyes snapped back to face the inquired Sherlock Holmes.

He re-situated himself, facing forward to take the cup of tea Sherlock was holding out to him with such a look of curiosity.

“So, how are your afairs? I must say, the case you recently solved was quite impressive, but not too impressive, seeing that I had nothing to do with it.” He turned to sit down across from him.

“It was rather boring and tedious, quite the feat, but it was boring nonetheless. Which brings me to a point, why has your criminal web come to a halt?” It wasn't a question that was unreasonable of him to ask, surely he expected something inreturn.

“I got a bit distracted of sorts. You see, I have been bored much like you, but it was so ravenous that I considered bombing the Parliament. Now I'm fine thanks to something that has the noise snuffed.” looking up, he flashed a toothy smile to him. _I will have to admit, seeing Sherlock lost in the unpredictable mind set I am is quite sex._

“And would that be deeply breath my flat's furniture? I have noticed signs of your entry in the last few days.” He raised a brow. _So observant of you Sherlock._

“I simply forgot something, and no why would you be so intrigued by the fact I was enjoying the furniture?” _dammit, that was out of my character. Would he notice? At this point it is a toss up, between being oblivious or rather predicted as to what made Moriarty's attitude change._

“I just found it odd.” He looked my way cautiously.

 

_..._

 

Present time

 

John looked adorable in the Tesco market. John had scouted out the produce, he searched for something in particular, but he wouldn’t find anything he wanted.

“Hey Johnny boy. I see you have oranges, did you know oranges have highly flammable peels?” He spouted a random fact, a simple distraction to turn the conversation his way. Regret and frustration slithered onto John's face. His shoulders shrugged, and turned away in a hope that he would go away.

“Oh come one, lighten up a Johnny. Its not like I’m going to try to blow you up again.” His attempt furthered as he pretended to pay attention more to the food. _Now how do I make him comply? Hmmm, I wonder if he bothers reading what is in his groceries._ Reciting each painstaking ingredient that would dig deeper and deeper into John, until he grab a bag of flour and tossed it over his shoulder, missing Moriarty by inches. His head dipped and his hand went to the bridge between his brows.

“Fine, what do you want?” Moriarty's face lit up massively. _Oh I want lots of things Johnny boy_

“I simply want a play mate. Someone I can just talk to. You know the boring bloke stuff you boring people do.” John did not look like he approved of Moriarty's sudden interest in him. A painful sigh could be herd escaping his lips.

“What does that have to do with me? I thought Sherlock was interesting?”

Moriarty seemed to take a great pleasure from what John said. He pretended to hunched over in laughter.

“You see Johnny boy, Sherlock is no longer of interest, because he is the same, always predictable, and that gets a little old, don't you think? You on the other hand, you seem much more interesting then I would ever imagine.” The fact John was laxed and was able to continue shoppng showed he either resented him, or he was considering it altogether.

“and what makes you think I will comply?” Moriarty received a rather strong and grounded look from the doctor Watson.

“Because you have nothing better to do Johnny,” His nickname burned into his already agitated mind. _don't play dumb, you know you just love my pet names._ Moriarty realized just how far he had gone, John left him a look that said stay the fuck away from me. He tried his best not to further the damage, he stayed out of the way, kept his distance and even looked away from John.

They neared the conveniently open register, he began taking each grocery to the counter without a word, in hops to redeem himself. A horrid silence filled between them. It became very agonizing. He had not slept in two days. He had tried using the jumper the borrowed, but even the comfort of knowing John had worn it on several occasions, he found no release from it any longer. The magic embedded inside its fibers had faded, and left him on the edge. Like a drug you become deepened on, but suddenly you are rudely awaken to find yourself in a rehabilitation facility devoid of any fix to get you by. He had taken great lengths to spruce up before this encounter beforehand, but the look he had been given shot through the facade he built up, and at once his true condition was revealed. He hated being this vnuarable. They exited the building, the cart strolled across the parking lot, until they came to a nice older tan buggy.

“What did you have in mind?” _wait, I am dreaming aren’t? This is a delicious nightmare come to taunt me._ Drinking in the words, his brain surged and buzzed on the previous arrangements made for tomorrow night. Taking each bag, setting it into considerable place, he pondered how to answer this question.

“Well John, I will figure something for tomorrow night, but I find it would be something adequate to your standing.” John gave him a small confused look. Moriarty avoided direct indication of it being a possible date, he also avoided being cheeky or using a pet name. With the last of the groceries, the truck was closed, and John sat down in his seat. Moriarty on the other hand had one are on the roof, leaning over John with a goofy dumbstruck look he slightly regretted.

“I would try dressing casual, nothing to fancy. I guess I will be picking you up at nine.” He gave John the biggest, sincerest smile he had in years. John would not notice, but a small, faint blush went across his face at his words. He simply turned around, walking away before John could say no.

“I beg your pardon?” John called out to him. _There is NOTHING, you can do Johnny. It is already in motion. This is already out of your hands._

 _“Ciao, my Dear Watson.”_ He played with his words in a gamble to John. Being playful would certainly give off the impression a date was just implied, but John was not like most people. He hoped that would effect his reasoning.

 

 

…

 

1 hour later

 

(Moriarty's POV)

_Am I overthinking things? I understand most people would simply think about What they would like, but here I am with half of London's hospitality establishments, and I have them broken down to ten top restaurants based on food,culture, and the building health reviews, but I could take it even farther, which would warrant it as Over-Thinking. Perhaps I could have my own men stationed that night to prepare the meals. Have top chefs brought in, and..... No, no, no, no! John would want something small, nothing to fancy. Something homey and nice._ Foot steps circled around him while he was breaking it down. It would be even longer before he came to a new top ten. His men were trying desperately to please him by having a common list of things the doctor purchased on a daily basis. They would try to give him the updated slips of receipts, but he would shoo them away, allowing himself to divulge deeper into his brain. 

 

 

…

 

_2 hours later!_

 

He was not a  _wreck_ , he was simply nervous. He was so nervous about choosing the wrong restaurant, wearing the wrong clothes. What if there was an earth quake!!! Alone in his frustration, his men left an hour ago, giving up, but before he was ready to throw it all in, he someone pet him on his head. A soft, calming and reassuring one.

“Oh, you are serious about this boy aren't you? Its okay love.” Irene's voice became a soothing support. It reassured him, bring his boil down to a soft simmer. He flung his self backwrds, this resulted in the chair coming with him, landing him on his back to the floor. Several tsk were give in rsponse.

“How the hell, do you people do this?” He stammered at her to his left. She began looking at the billboard filled with menus and post-its. She turned her head in disproval, and took off a post-it. She scribbled out something. Her hands began tearing off every single thing, one at a time. 

“Let me help you love. Your problem is you are trying to hard. Your sister is rather the same way.” she disappeared down the stairs to the bathroom. A door opened somewhere.

“What a mess it in here-James, get off that floor right now!” Marry looked at him with a scowl. She placed her face in her hand. The sound of water came rushing through the flat. Irene appeared from the darkened place. Her eyes lit up on Marry, and she strode over gracefully.

“Hello darling, why is my brother's flat in shingles? I am always so confused.” She looked around trying to piece things together.

“Your brother is in love, love.” She smiled, playing with the word love. It was marry's pet name, but everyone was love to her at some point or other, but it was clear, between them, love meant something entirely different. Marry's eyes lit up even brighter. 

“and who might be this maiden?” She  _casually_ asked, her frantic curiosity bled through her front. He hoped Irene would do him one act of kindness. It was bad enough, having Irene work for him had allowed his older sister to feel entitled to barge into his life, and it was without a moments notice, but his personal life? That would be too far. Irene smirked, she figured, Marry was her protection from him. She would gladly cut away at him with her Deadly Charms. 

“a one, Mr. John H. Watson. He is just infatuated right now. Nothing serious between them yet.” Marry's eyes must of ripped apart with how wide they managed to get. She looked like a lemur, giant eyes, no eyelids. Really humorous. 

“He works with me. I am paired up with him at times at Bart's and all. This is good, he is a good guy, you fuck him up and I will fuck you up,” Her threats were hardly empty. She was a woman, she was the woman who tamed _**The Woman**_. She was a force one hid from, and he was eager to figure out if the bath was for him. Irene walked away smiling. Marry sighed at the dirty floor. 

“Don't worry, Adlle will fix you up, I will help however I can, and you won't have to do a thing, but in future references? I am not your matchmaker, and we will not always be this kind, but I must admit, seeing you so helpless is not so boring as I thought it would be.” She smiled, sharp teeth underneath the fake pleasant ones. Sure, she was a sweet girl, but if she had to, she would skin someone for less then his standards allowed. She was something to fear for any given reason. 

 

He was led to the bathtub, his childhood was lined with abusive parents, so everytime he took a bath, his bruised body would unwind from the damaged muscle, sometimes it was mental, sometimes it was physical, this time had been worse. Emotional meant he could not fix it with logical means, but his  _ darling _ sister and sister-inlaw would gladly do all the work. He would not do a thing to ruin this chance with John. He certainly felt they knew more then him, especially when one of them sells fantasy, and the other cuts out hearts legally for a living.

 

The water was silver. The candles had been lit, and they casted around, but the water was silver. Even the warm golden yellow and orange like red had done nothing to change the clear metallic water. He knew better to trust Irene Adler, this being she would of slipped something into his water, perhaps a happy drug, or some stimulant, he knew she would not compromise her relationship with Marry by killing me mere feet away, hardy a yard or two. The air stung his nose, it smelled like vinegar at first, but became a more lemony gardenia fragrance. Skin slowly escaped his clothing, he sighed as he dipped his body into it all too fast. He let himself sink down, feeling something beneath him. Small bits of herbs floated around him. Purples and blues, reds maybe? His vision blurred for a second, instantly he could hear John's voice whispering, he looked for him, but he had not been there present. He could feel hands on his ribs, sliding up to caress his neck & shoulders. Finger tips danced across his face. Slowly an image of John's face appeared in the water, sinking down to his. A soft warm comforting look that said to hush and breath.  _ This is madness, I must be crazy. No this level of delusional apparition requires me to go beyond the boundaries till I meet sanity.  _ He bolted up as John pressed his ghostly lips to his. All at once, he disappeared..

 

(Marry's POV)

She could hear splashing, and moaning from the bathroom below.  _ She better have not. _

“What did you do to his bath water?” She gave her girlfriend an accusing look. Irene began to laugh violently. She tried to collect herself before going into a new fit altogether. It was a process that Irene became determined to end soon enough.

“I slipped fools root into his bath, a bit of lemon grass and flower oils. He should have another five minutes before he passes out. You can empty his water now if you want.” Irene was rather difficult at times, she saw things that needed to be done, but they were what people did not want to be done, for those very things would threaten someone's morality, sexuality, and even their very own humanity by a thread. She was truly an amazing woman. A woman that left her with the mess of her drugged up wreckage of a brother. Walking the steps to the bathroom, the moans ceased, and splashing calmed to a low current of noises. James laid smiling at a candle. His eyes close at falling down. She reached down to pull the silver drain stopper to let the water out. Gallon by gallon, the water was emptied out, leaving her brother to hang on to consciousness like a fragile doll. Grabbing a towel, she began the process of hoisting her brother out of the tub. It was not fully on her part, he held some standing on his own, but she was suspicious that it was solely natural instincts. She dragged him up the steps, along the floor and his bedroom that was opened by Addle. She threw him on the bed. Adler dressed him up in soft pjs and a jumper she had seen John wear at a Christmas party once.  _ My poor baby brother is so helpless. He looks so peaceful drugged up.  _

“That is Johns jumper.” She pointed out to Irene. Irene laughed a little, wrapped her arms around Marry.

“Yeah I remember you used to steal my clothes.” Irene smirked at Marry. Marry blushed a little, and looked down at her feet. 

“Yeah, but you left them in my room after I  _ paid  _ for consultation. He on the other hand broke into someone's flat and stole articles of their clothing. 

They both started laughing, Marry flipped the switch, Irene shut the door, and they both would have one huge of a night ahead of them, all to assure the crazy would have the best night of his life. 

_ Oh the things I do for love. I must be crazy too.  _

 


	4. Shall we dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty: This is what you give me to work with?  
> Well, honey, I've seen worse  
> We're going to turn this sow's ear  
> into a silk purse  
> We'll have you washed and dried  
> Primped and polished  
> till you glow with pride
> 
> John: Trust me recipe for instant bride  
> You'll bring honor to us all 
> 
> Wait and see  
> When we're through  
> Boys will gladly go to war for you  
> With good fortune  
> And a great hairdo  
> You'll bring honor to us all 
> 
> This will be, interesting, so very sweet.  
> One cup, two cups, three cups, I'm drowning in this, I will surely die soon. If not the tea, then by my own neveres.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! So I warned you so much about what acknowledgement would do? One comment! That was all it took to get him on this chapter as fast as he could! -JM  
> "Oh shut up, I was already planning doing it anyway, it may be a bot before I update again, but still, I was so moved by just word, you don't need to pitch a fit everytime I'm INSPIRED :3"  
> Will you guys be quite, I still have a fucking Hangover, or did some people fucking forgot?! -JW  
> I'm so sorry baby -Jm (CENSORED) -for reasons-
> 
> Anyways, thanks again for the lovins, inspiring me to be perfect!!! Well as always, comment, kudos, bookmar, whichever, whatevers, mewwww, Just enjoy no matter wats!!!!!!!

(John's POV)

_I don't have a date tomorrow night. No this is just pleasing Moriarty so he doesn't cause anymore trouble in London. If he is distracted, then I have done my part. But still, I can't shake the idea of_ _ what _ _if its_ _ a _ _ date _ _?_

John had finished his most recent cup of tea. That would make the eight cup tonight. Sherlock had been oddly compliant, bringing him his ninth. Sherlock seemed to take interest, and gave no care to the matter. The confliction was barely noticed due to other matters weighing heavier and heavier on his mind. The smirk in Moriarty's voice had been cut into his mind, leaving the soft pale scar that he could go bath over and over again, hearing just as clear and playful as it had been before. Another cup was placed, and the previous, taken to be washed and another poured. Sherlock by this time had gotten the hang of t by then. Four sugars, one tablespoon of milk or cream. He laid back, sipping his tea sparingly, hoping he could make this one last longer, and that he would not need one more cup to get his fix. The thoughts will subside soon enough, yet they had yet to lax any more after cup five.

_What do I wear? Something professional? He said nothing special, just nicer. I wonder what he is going to wear, something to do with Westwood, something that would impress me._

He sighed into his cup, comforted by the reassuring scent of the chair. His nails pressed lightly into the soft plush. It protested against them. Sherlock had perched himself, only to observe him.

_I should try to get something put out for tomorrow, shave, and maybe, but a new pair of knickers._

“I am not considering that!” Sherlock's face flinched, eyes grew wide at John's sudden burst.

_Okay John Hamish Watson, calm down, you can handle this._

“Why is it always me? Why do I get stuck with the crazies?” He pointed an accusing finger at Sherlock. He grabbed his cup of tea, took one long sip of tea. He set it down, waiting for Sherlock to replace it. Sherlock looked at him with question. He gave up on what he was thinking and decided to make him his tenth cup.

“John, I suggest you try not to intake any more excessive caffeine, it is less favorable to your heal-” Sherlock had tried to stand up for John's safety. _Is he really fucking serious?_

“Don't tell me about safety, I dragged you from a couch to the kitchen floor to remove _four_ patches off you, all the while you were unresponsive!” Sherlock's eyes dropped a bit, he set the cup down without putting the sugar in. Walking over to John, he looked John in the eyes. His hand raised up, and with a loud slap, his hand connected to the side of John's face.

“Don't tell me you have problems, you think this whatever it is, is eating you? I have no one who, but you who cares about my well being, I will eventually become consumed by the one thing that that is all I have. I can't teach, I cannot cook, I don't drive, and I certainly cannot make any form of art. Deduction is my everything, my brain is my everything, and it will certainly be my downfall.” John's eyes stung. His heart reached out, it was the ghost of what occurred over two weeks ago. He felt sympathy, he felt pain, but it was the pain of what happened. It was a scar, he reached up at the same moment tears started falling. Fingertips pressed onto lips, Sherlock's eyes looked empty, cold, and they were singing pain. They cried silently, telling secrets he did not want. He stepped away, turning to the kitchen, a switched flipped, the lights went out. He walked to the lamp, pressed the switch, it went out.

“Listen, John, I-John I didn't mean to say-” John's finger hushed him, his hands led him up the steps. No one would say a thing. This did not mean a thing. Sherlock followed without question. They made their way up the flight of steps, he came to his door. Suddenly the gravity of things fell on him.

 _What am I doing? Why am I doing any of this._ Sherlock felt the need to pull his hand free, he slid his arms behind John. He felt lips swoon downwards on his neck. They parted, leaving a soft roll over his shoulder. Teeth dragged on until they came together again. John walked towards his bed, slipping from Sherlock's grip. The sound of the door closing behind him allowed his mind to process what happened next. He turned around, only to meet Sherlock, stripping his clothes. Hands worked on John's. _This has to stop, this has to end here. Not after everything we have been through._

Like a waterfall, he fell backwards onto the cold bedspread. Sherlock grabbed blankets edge, pulling himself and the mass onto John. John's body was assaulted with hands and teeth. He felt something wet fall onto his chest. His eyes opened to find Sherlock, eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“I'm sorry John, I can't do this.” He weeped, the noises were unreal to John. None knew the pain of Sherlock. No one, but John could grasp the ideology of a hurt Sherlock.

“Sherlock, I only had the intentions of holding you close you bloke. I am not gay.” He looked into John's eyes. Like a secret code, they both knew what John meant by the words he stated.

“And I find the whole need for sexual stimulation boring.” He tightened around John, a lost broken puppy, scared of the world. Then the sobs began. John worked his fingertips into his back muscles, while Sherlock squeezed him closer. It felt like a mutual agreement. John had his problems, and Sherlock had his. He wasn't sure when, but at some point he fell asleep under Sherlock.

 

…

 

Later the next morning

 

(Moriarty's POV)

First thing he saw was the low light of dawn. His hand raised, fell downward, grabbing the sheets to pull himself to the edge of the bed. He grasped the side, pulling himself out of the covers and onto the floor. _Blood hell. Where am I? Oh my bedroom?_ He crawled up to the door, latching onto it, attempting to get his footing. Memories began to flood his mind like a silly little thing that was supposed to be kept from him.

“When I get my hands on them.” He his hands froze with the door slightly open. The living room. Not a single piece of trash to be seen. His billboard had a end table in front of it. A set of clothes laid folded neately. A note had been left.

_James dear, I understand how I may of slightly upset your feelings, but you see, I had a date banging your sister with various items I got from the store. The point is, these are your clothes for tonight's date. We will see you off around nine. Your darling sister insist we make sure you don't fuck things up. Be a sweetie and bath an hour beforehand, brush your teeth, and check the address out I have posted._

 

He would surely have her dealt with in non-physical ways. His sister would not have hi sedated again, but that would not stop a repeat. Suddenly, Moran came into the flat. Stacks of files, and folders with something secret inside of them. _He thinks he is going to ruin my day?_

“Here are the locations of the army bases stationed out of Russian soil.” Moran laid them down on thee coffee table. He sat down besides the couch, looking lost a bit, finding something to keep his eyes out of Moriarty's.

“You are funny Sebby, I am going on a date. I do not have time to schedule who will be in power of the European continent next. I have to much to do, now if you would be useful, get the car ready, I have to go get pampered.” He strode out to his bed room in search of some attire for the rest of the day.

“Oh, and Seb? Try to be a dear and make me something coffee me. I need it dearly,” He called out from his room. He found something gray laying around in a droor. A T-shirt with no logos, and a soft gray pair of pants. _Hmm that seems to be convenient... Now, to get my Coffee._

A cup was set out with a donut on top of the rim.

With cup in hand, he walked out of the door, locking the flat behind him.

 

So many places to get all spoiled and such, he rarely went anywhere, but he would go to his favorite place in London before he would go somewhere important.

 

…

 

Nail me like Asian woman

 

That was the serious establishment he enjoyed going to. They all knew him by face. Mr. M they called him. As soon as he entered the front door, he was shown a comfortable seat amongst the other customers. Immediately they began trimming his hair and putting in products. The walls white white blue trims, lined in squares. Tiny statues lined in rows, a small cute potted plant, smiling faces going in and out.

“Oh, who lucky guy, Mr. M?” Nao started on his earlobes. Scrubbing them clean from dead skin cells. She started with his nails next.

“Just a cutie I met the other week. He is a blogger. Cute bloke.” She gasped at his fake voice. She smiled happily, removing dirt from his nails. Oils were rubbed into each nail separately. Next she messaged his hands with it. Working them into the skin. Her hair was wrapped in a braid. Dressed in silk attire.

“Yeah, I herd those types real keepers, they be so sessy.” she ushered others in to attend to me. They came in with urgency, only the best for their best paying customer. He had the place paid off when he found they had an unique face mask that just lifted years away. They had been surprised, it was indeed boring. Something so valuable had to be insured.

“Find something that will make me look irresistible. Also, bring me something scented for later tonight.” He waved his hands towards Nao's grandmother. Her face graced with wisdom, began to ponder. She started sending off orders in old Mandarin. Two left, and one came in with a vial filled with a clear liquid.

“This vial will be placed in your hands after the treatments. This is an old ancient recipe that will bring out your inner fragrance, this will entice your love interest surely as you wish. Now shut up for the face mask.” Old lady Hitsoyama always was a charmer. _Note to self, if that really works, buy it out of her._ The previous two came back with a white bowl filled with a cerulean blue cream. A thing of raw cotton, and some fruit.

“The fruit will help you stay full of energy and bring you clean skin Mr. M. Now stay still while we prepare your skin,” He was all to used to the routine, they used raw cotton to exfoliate his skin, leaving it susceptible to the creamy mask. Layers of dead skin fell away, new cotton applied, repeat until his skin was soft. It stung to his abused pours, but he didn't care, anything to look his best. He was being treated with extra special care, they knew his well being meant the well being of their families. After this day he would always see to their well being. He would have herbs ordered to his flat later for more baths, but hopefully non-hallucinogenic herbs. Fingers went through his hair, soaps and oils. The sound hysterical women floated around, gossip, facts and boasting about their children. One woman was getting her face waxed. The time ticked by and by. He contemplated how long it would be until he was finished. He also thought about how long it would be until his date. It was four p.m. _Time is being rather cruel to me. I really wish I could get this over with._

After several, more minutes, his face was washed with cleansers, and patted dry with a fresh new towel. Moran came in and gave him a look of approval. He could feel the eyes of strangers filled with suspicions. He was allowed to get up.

“Payment has already been transacted. Is there anything else?” Moriarty picked up the vial before walking out to the counter. There was Nao smiling, filled with joy. She handed out a small golden charm with red ribbon on the end.

“Here, for you date. He like, he like very much. You be safe Mr. M,” he accepted the small token. _I wonder if Johnny boy would like this._

Moran stood waiting for him outside by the car. Moriarty stepped in eagerly. A laptop hidden in the folds of the car seats. It gave way from the crevice with little protest. It gave life few seconds after he pressed his ring finger against the white button. Noises wired, filling the black car.

“Sebastian, there is a address on this sticky note, could you be a dear and take me there?” He pulled out his phone, snapping a few pictures before handing the original copy to Moran.

The internet browser opened up fast enough.

“Did we ever get John's measurements? I may need need them.” Moran's facial expression lost all color at what he said. _Now come one, don't lie to me._

“Look in the second folder in the briefcase. It should page fifteen. That should be proficient.” A click came from the brief case. A folder labeled two indeed had the measurements that would fit John Watson.

He punched in the data into his search. A variety of clothes popped up on the screen. Choosing several from the list, he compiled a selection for John. It wasn't many, but he figured it would be weird to buy John many things with the fact he was not even dating him at the moment.

 

…

 

221B BakerStreet

(Sherlocks's POV)

John awoke under him, light had barely broke, and the smaller male began to stir. _If only the night did not slip out from under us. What is locked away in there John? Why can I not see inside your head? What is so troubling that I must not know?_

John shoved away at his thoughts with movements, they were attempts to wake up and squirm their way out of Sherlock's hold. John smelled like honey, warm, sweet honey that has been damaged and stirred up too fast at once, left to sit on the kitchen window sill. Finally the illusion of an endless night was shattered as John opened his eyes.

“Sherlock, why am I under you.” He looked confused, startled, and even curious. He wanted to just bottle up the way John looked.

“You are promptly making physical contact. You would call it, cuddling I do so believe.” He twisted, hoping to break free. He allowed him to escape a bit to sit up. White sheets pulled with him.

“We certainly did not...” Sherlock found himself smiling, wondering if John actually thought he would allow himself to do something so mundane.

“No, I have no interest in engaging in intercourse with anyone at the matter. You simply made out with me, and dragged me up to your room to promptly cry and pass out under me. _I wonder if he understands what it all meant to me?_

“It is alright. I am just glad I didn't wake up to some experiment laying around or you destroying the flat in boredom.” John's words felt heavy on him. It was true, Sherlock would of gotten up to do something to distract him from the boredom, but there was one problem, he had been so wrapped up in John to notice something entirely important. He was not bored. He felt nothing. It was clear, nothing buzzed at him, eating him away till he was a wreck. John had been in bed stil, he had a face filled with groaning and discomfort. His mind was visibly in a fog. _Could it be possible, that John could substitute a drug?_

A slight noise came, he turned to john and kissed him. The noise deflated into nothing. John tried to speak up, but he just left to his room.

 

(John's POV)

He tried to interject Sherlock and his thoughts, but he suddenly was attack, Sherlock had kissed him, he kissed him, and the worse part? The worst part is that is was an experiment of some sort. John knew the look of 'how intriguing'. He had awoken under him, warm and nestled, and yet this is how it was all treated. He shouldn't be surprised, Sherlock wasn't one for sentiment. It had however taken him aback when last nights events came to him all too sudden and without a warning to call his own.

A pounding in his head surged when he strained his eyes to check the time. 12:24 p.m the alarm clock read on the night stand. Life did not end, simply because he was a stupid bloke and had a break down, it simply smiled and went on with its business. John would not let it stop him either.

He walked over to the shower with a new change of clothes in hand. The room was all too white, sterile and cold. The door shut, his hand on autopilot flipped the nozzle, a hiss emitted from the shower, and water shot out with a force. Steam replaced the icy air, he let go oh the clothes, stepping into the shower once the remaining articles of clothing were shed. It washed away all his doubt, every concern and fear. _What if this is another trap like back at the pool?_

Regardless, he wouldn't let fear, worry, nor doubt get in the way of having an opportunity to know more about Moriarty, and what his motives are. He obviously is after Sherlock by trying to talk to him. John would not allow it to happen, and he would learn something surely by the night was over. He reached over for a razor. The cream was lathered, and wiped away clean in its trace. A generic shampoo poured into his hands, sliding down deep into his short hair. Oils, scents and all sorts of grime was washed away at the spray. He repeated with the conditioner, but taking a little more time. Sighs became heavy breaths and heavy breaths became tears. _Why am I crying so much lately. Ever since the incident with passing the boundaries of myself, I have cried so much, much more the I usually do._

He allowed himself to eased by it all. So when the water stopped, and he turned to get dressed, he stepped out and walked to his room, and Sherlock had left him a cuppa, he was able to think about what to wear without going holly fuck me. He went through several shirts, coats, pairs of pants, and he hardly came down to a list of possible choices. _This is bloody ridiculous, this isn't even that important. So why do I keep making it into a big deal._

Sherlock did protest, he didn't even bother John any further.

 

 

…

 

(Mary's POV) Her sweet _Darling_ was busy today. Her beloved Adlle was known to be in the business of pleasure, but to be honest, it all seemed better suiting to say the business of misery. She brought the harshest, most brutal of fantasies to her clientele. Mary loved hearing what her sweet could do to even the most powerful of people in the world, but this day was different, this day she was busy ruining her younger brother's life. It looked like she was helping him, but she knew just as well as Mary did, that if he fell in love with Watson, it would be the end of him, that this would destroy his life, but it also might bring some positivity into his life as a side-effect. _She really did plan everything out didn't she? I wonder what he makes of all of it?_ With the slam of the door, Jim came home, not James, no Jim Moriarty. He strode around in some nice outdoors clothing.

“I will be right out blood bag. I have to change.” It was 8:09 p.m, she had expected him to be home early enough to get ready. She thought she saw something different about his face. Irene, came back from the kitchen with a blueberry parfait in hand. She was about to enjoy all of this. Although she knew her intentions clear as day, what had escaped her entirely was the fact, she chose the same place they went on their first date. _Goddess, I just he doesn't do anything stupid or take things fast, especially since John isn't even bi. There are signs he could become bi with the right guy, but anything to rash will destroy all hope._ He reappeared from the room to the left dressed in the same clothes her dear had picked out for him. Gladly he went with the offer to help. A nice white suit with a black pinstriped fedora. His smiled was lined in jewels, his skin clear and soft. Not a single hair in or out of place. That was when it hit her. _He is serious about this. He is serious about John._ Suddenly the tears started falling with no sign beforehand. Irene immediately came to me, holding me tight.

Moriarty's face twisted in confusion, not necessarily concern, he isn't the one to falter and show he has honest emotions.

“It is alright love, now what is the matter? I take it James scared you with his horrifying face?” She coaxed out a laugh, a giggle, and began nudging into me.

“No, its just that, look at him Adlle, he is so serious, he didn't even dress this nice for the assassination of the pope..” Irene gave her a look that said, yes I know, now you are definitely looking cute!

“I picked the clothes out you know? It is my well being that which has set the stag for his classy attire.” She shook her head, perhaps she did not notice the hair cut, the waxing, the facial treatments, his hands even looked softer then usual.

“I'm talking about how he looks like he got rapped and robbed by hundreds of Asian women, if you haven't noticed that is.” Irene's eye grew wider, her lips parted in such awe. Striding over, she picked up his hands. She gave way to the look of 'amazing, such craftsmanship, how?' Now it was Mary's turn to say cute, but this was not her night, this was not her moment, this was her underling of a brother. The biological relation that lacked five years to her. He was so new to it, she almost felt guilty for not telling him what he was in for. He convinced himself he had no heart, but she was the only one whom had knew that to be sick twisted guiltless lie. Irene began trying to pump out information from him, where, how much that kind of stuff. _This should be so very interesting._ They both stopped bickering to stair at her smile. It brought confused faces, but it brought her content.

Everything for once would be alright.

 

…

 

221B BakerStreet

 

(John's POV)

It was 9:45 p.m, which would be fifteen minutes till his, umm er well. He could not figure out what was the name for it. It was distraction for the man who was picking him up. He praised the heavens when he was somehow able to be blessed with the miracle of Sherlock running off to a last minute case. He hadn't caught much, something about a corpse with melon sown inside the itself.

He wore, a black dress shirt, and dress pants. His hair has slightly combed, but left to fall into place. He washed his face, and felt like he had gone a bit to much for his event of sorts. He had no clue what was going to happen. He spent the remainder of his time tidying up the kitchen, he scribbled a note out for Sherlock about his sudden departure.

He herd a doorbell, somehow fifteen minutes escaped from him in no time. Opening the door, he revealed the suspected Moriarty behind it.

“Well shall we?” He ushered towards the black Shelby waiting outside under the street light. Moriarty walked to the passenger side and opened the door for him. He gave a smile John never knew could be on the face of a monster. He took the gesture and gave a nod of thanks. The car came to life as James, started it up. They pulled out into the night, and they drove into uncertainty. The night was gorgeous, the radio wasn't even bothered.

“You don't have to be so quite you know? You can even turn on the radio if you like.” Moriarty gestured to the radio. _Where is he getting at?_

“No, it is fine, I like rides without the radio.” Moriarty gave him a weird look, a look filled with question and interest.

“I-I mean, it is good and all, but it takes away from the scenery of the highway and the city's view. I like music like the next person, but I rather enjoy what is around me. Moriarty subsided into a pleased smile.

“So, where are we going?” His question seemed more imposing then it had meant to be. Was he supposed to just be quite and let Moriarty do what he wanted?

“You will see soon enough John.” His first name seemed foreign on Moriarty's tongue. Like something you would not expect to come from a nun's mouth. Perhaps a fuck you or maybe even Damn. The ride seemed to stretch on longer then he had hoped. It wasn't somewhere to far, they pulled in to a small restaurant, it had some class to it, John was certainly fitted for it, but Moriarty's suiting had seemed a bit over the top, but John expected that out of someone like him. It was a given fr people like him and Sherlock. _So, dinner it is then? That seems a bit mundane for Moriarty. A cute, classy Italian restaurant. Mucha Belissima Bambino. That was the place._

“Brook, table for two.” Moriarty spoke to the receptionist did not bother to check if Moriarty had been actually reserved. He immediately called someone to seat them. It wouldn't surprise him if the entire place was set up by Moriarty. Two menus were placed, Moriarty took the liberty of ordering two glasses of a red wine.

“I think I will have a burger and some fries topped with mozzarella,” Moriarty gave him a look of disapproval. He gave a small laugh, and began his order.

“I will have the steak, and some alfrado, also, could you bring me a few napkins?” It puzzled John to see Moriarty asking for something instead of ordering someone to get it for him. In this situation, surely it was polite to order a server instead of nicely asking. _What is he getting at._

A crystal glass was set down, filled with a delicate shade of red. Moriarty gladly took a sip.

“I was hoping you would get something nicer, but if that is your wish, then it is mine to fill.” John felt a cold spider crawl up his spin, waiting for its moment.

“Well, I didn't want to pay to much for my dinner, and Its fine, I prefer a burger. So umm what is this for?” Moriarty studied him for a minute. His eyes breaking him down, deciphering what to say. Weaving something for John.

“I thought you were under the notion I had planned on paying for dinner, and to answer your question, this is dinner. It is what two people do when they are hungry.” Moriarty looked around, expecting dinner to arrive soon, John knew it was too early for it to arrive, but clearly the great Moriarty could arrange otherwise. John let his words go. Moriarty wanted something, and he was going to get it one way or another. Any of it didn't surprise him. He took a sip of his wine. It was tangy, and rich with quality. _So the bloke knows how to pick wine._

“So, did you know that wine was considered the life essence? It derived from making a liquid that was a clean drinking source that would not poison you or make you sick. Eventually more efficient methods of purifying water came along, and it was pushed aside as something to drink at the table with family.

“That is lovely to know, by the way, you know how to pick a nice selection of red wine,” He took another sip to show validation to his words. Moriarty took a long one in reply, almost like he was chasing away the jitters.

“Thank you, but I will admit you have a nice taste yourself John.” John immediately started choking on his half empty glass, he reached for napkin to clean up his mess. A sigh of relief to know none got onto Moriarty's suit. His glass was taken and replaced with a new glass, filled with the same wine he just choked on, still choking, he took long greedy sips to help calm the fit.

“I'm sorry if I upset you in some way, but as I was saying, the choice of the Mozzarella is an excellent choice to go with the wine. I had not expected you to choose it.” John had well less then half his glass left by time he had calmed down.

“Oh no, sorry, its not your fault, it just went into the trancea by accident, triggering the reaction.” He had not realized what just happened until he finished his sentence. _Wait, did Moriarty just apologize? Did I just assure him otherwise so his feelings wouldn't be hurt?_

“So what do you do at Bart's?” Moriarty offered a conversation piece. Moriarty is making small talk. Well it wasn't so small, but the weirdness was getting a little bit weirder.

“I am usually on call emergencies, but I sometimes have the check up shifts.” Moriarty seemed rather interested. John took a nice sip, and let out a sweet sigh.

“Tell me, anything drastic you have done? Any interesting cases?” He dug the piece deeper, priding more. _He must want to know more about Barts. That may explain it, perhaps something to do with Sherlock's experiments maybe?_

 _“_ One time I had to remove a tooth from someone's forearm, and another time, There was a case someone broke a foot from a fridge falling on them.” Moriarty's face lit up considerably. He took a drink form his glass. It had been replaced, John had not noticed Moriarty's excessive drinking. A soft smile on his lips danced a bit. John caught himself looking at Moriarty too long. This sent Moriarty in a fit of laughter. That was when their long awaited food had arrived. It wasn't anything fancy, it had cheese, ketchup, a bit of ranch and pickles. The fries seemed the most exotic out of his order. Suddenly, the mix of cheese and wine became so tempting that he forgot about his burger for a moments time. Moriarty seemed to take a liking to it too. He snatched a fry with out asking. John laughed a good bit before repeating the notion of consumption.

“Hey you bugger.” John laughed a little more towards Moriarty.

“It is good and delicious.” He protested against John's words.

“That it may be Mr. Moriarty, but I thought you were better then petty theft?” Moriarty smiled a little to wide, almost devious and malicious. John's features laxed at the sudden expression plastered in front of him.

“Please John, call me James.” John did not see what happened next, James cut a bite-sized piece of his steak, pierced the fork into it deeper, and gestured it to John, he had no time to think or process the offering mere inches from his lips. With reluctancy, he accepted the favor, the flavor of the meat sent a rush of feelings in his mouth. _This is so good, man, can he pick a place to eat._ Without say, James extended his glass to John, it was gladly accepted without much hesitation. The wine had done a nice job at breaking the ice between the two.

 

(Moriarty's-er Jame's POV)

Everything was going better beyond what had been expected. John was eating food he offered, they were making small talk, telling stories, and they both were comfortably drinking! _Oh what did I do to achive such success. Please, don't drink too much Johnny Boy, I don't want you getting sick._

“So, what do you do for a living? I mean, I know what you do, but anything interesting?” He felt a surge of excitement, Johnny wanted to know about his life, he could be doing it for Sherlock's sake or the Ice man's, but he didn't care, because this meant interest in him.

“Well, I have had several important people disappear in the past, It could not be anything that interesting to say the least, there was the time I eradicated half of Asia's crime underground for being insulted after I did them a favor. So, nothing of any interest.” John's burger had been halfway finished, his fries almost gone. He stole another fry, John laughed a little more, they took a sip, It was complete harmony, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, it felt amazing to let all those anxieties out. His first clue he should not drive was when accidentally knocked over his glass, and it spilled all over the table, I had been ¼, so gladly it did not reach his suit. He usually would scowl, but his current condition had “loosened” him up as his sister would say.

“Well Johnny, I believe I a have to call us a ride, It seems um unfit to drive.” Johnny laughed a little to hard at his proclamation. His phone Flipped out, he found it slightly difficult to find Moran.

Hey,uuma nwed a rode-Jm

Have you been drinking sir?-SM

Hey, dont go bein a sourpussse. Iam havm a great tim- JM

Do you need me now?-SM

Maby

I will be there promptly, I suggest you stay in the parking lot.

John seemed to be having a wonderful time, it was a shame things were coming to an end.

“Well it come to an end here. Waiter, could you bring me my check.” He took great pains to say every word correctly in a complete sentence. Th check read a number he didn't care to look over. He pulled out a two hundred dollar bills. He gave almost no care as they stood up. They walked out of the restaurant, he grabbed John's arm, helping him walk, he was worse off then James, but it still seemed logical for each other to support the other. To an outsider it would look like a couple, the male in the relationship escorting his date outside, but the sad reality was quite a different notion. John had his arms wrapped around Jim's, John barely noticed what his need for extra support looked like, and Jim like it very much. So it came to him as comedic when John became confused.

“Wat ur yhu, loffin a bout?” Jame's head was spinning, he tripped a little and fell back against a street light, John in turn fell on him, he caught John, but when John looked up? The light was glaring on his face, his eyes were the prettiest blue. A beautiful ocean, compared to the feline color of his own eyes. They sparkled a deep color at that. His lips lightly parted. _I really shouldn’t, I really should not by any means._

“Wut, I gots sumin un my fase?” He looked confused, his lips parted just a little too much to ignored this time, and before he knew it, he was taking the fall.

“Just me gorgeous.” He smiled softly before cupping John's face, and scooping down to steal a tender kiss. The taste of red wine laced on his lips so teasingly. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or the kiss, but John's face flushed harshly in a matter of seconds. John gave no protest, just stared in complete shock, he looked tired, as if he had just came back from a journey after traveling far off lands, meeting new people, facing dragon's in the hopes to find treasure of some sort. He wrapped himself around the exhausted John. Puling him closer into his chest. Moran knew how to ruin a moment, because the beautiful scene was shattered, nope raped as he was torn off of John and thrown into his other car. John climbed in compliantly. Moran had been huffing and puffing, spouting aggravation towards him.

“Where is Bakerstreet?” He called out to him from the front. _Who does he think is?_

“No, I'm tired, yuuu are taking us straight to myyy flat Sebastian or else.” Moran seemed to like ruining his fun, he sounded like he forgot his place.

“Boss, you are not dragging him to that flat in your condition.” This was something interesting indeed, he could not deduce him, but he knew well enough that Moran was not to be calling the shots.

“That is right, I am the bosse, an unlesh you wanna swollow ur teeth, imma take me home now.” Moran groaned, but kept quite, knowing he had no say with him standing his ground.

The ride wasn't too far from his current flat. John had not protested at his one sided decision for them to stay at his place. Moran left them there at his flat. He struggled to find a correct key, it had taken him fifteen minutes to figure out which one was right. They stepped in to the empty place, the door shut behind them. He pulled John's hand to the left bedroom. He shut that door too.

“Hey, umm nawt Gayyy, so we can totally kissss an it nawt be weird. I mean umm nawt against you, well urts wrong, because ur Sherluck's nemy.” John attempted to unbutton his clothes, he managed to get his pants of though. Moriarty however, stripped his own suite off, after he was in his night clothes, he unbuttoned the rest of John's dress shirt. He slide the under shirt off, John's files were correct, he had a scar on his left shoulder, a huge one that took up a great deal. He flipped the switch, the light gave out in return, John opened his mouth to say something, moonlight graced the bed, just enough to wash over John's features, the darker skin touched by a Goddesses kiss, his Fingertips pressed against him, effortlessly, John fell onto the bed, Moriarty fell after him. Their lips reunited, they clashed angrily, John took just as much pleasure if not more then his own self had. Warm hands gliding down his skin, his mouth traveled to the nook of John's neck, his tongue flicked at it greedily, John began to moan. Like a fine wine, he began to taste him, nicking at the skin at first, he had not notice his administrations becoming more harsh and demanding, before he realized it, he was biting harshly down onto the doctor's neck, leaving bruises and hikies. It felt so good on him, he could feel the blond withering underneath him in a bash of pleasure. The noises were a seduction that he could not stand, they called out to him, more, more, they cried out, but there, lost in his lust and confusion, he found morality, somehow being in the most immoral of acts, he found the decency to stop. He fell over onto his side, pulling the silky sheets over himself, he gripped onto john, pulling him into his arms. John gave out noises that portrayed they longed for the previous attention. He settled down and was satisfied in Moriarty's arms. There, Moriarty would lay awake for hours, watching John breath, thinking to himself. _Please, do not let morning come for me. Do not let the lark become my hellish reality._ John had such a soft melow scent, it reminded him of honey almost. Sweet almond honey.

He savored it with such delight, but alas, the night, she took him away from the moment before him.

It was perfect.

 

(John's POV) He awoke with the strangest ache in his head. His mind was a blurrr, nothing made sense, his eyes would not open for him but he could feel silk, soft, smooth, lucious silk, and he could tatse. He tasted old alcohol on his tongue, and something minty. He could also smell, and it was so pleasant of a fragrance. It was something beautiful, and crafted finely.

It was familiar. He held no memory of the night's previous events.

The only thing he felt was the memory of laughter, lips and feeling in pure ecstasy. _Did I do drugs or something?_ The scent was coming closer and closer in on him, he began to relish in it, it soothed him even more so then he already was. He had buried himself into the covers, pulling them closer, he felt good the more he could smell. The more he got the more everything felt better.

A rush after another came, he was completely filled with it, consumed by it. Every inch of flesh was devoured, but in the midst of it all, he realized something. This was not the first time, images of his flat flashed, images of people dancing zealously, sins mixed, blood poured down without much effort. It all became too real to him, he then realized the weight behind him, the arm around his waist, and the light sound of breathing behind him. The warmth comforted him. _Could it possibly be? Could I be in bed with the same man as before? What would these odds be._ He turned around slowly not to awake the sleeping man. His hand grabbed at the cover, pulling it down to the groggy face of James Moriarty. Suddenly last night came rushing back to him. His eyes fluttered open from the lack of covers.

“You!” John's words sounded stabbed into Moriarty harshly, and twisted his insides filled with malicious accusations. 


	5. This dance is so much fun! Explain it one more time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after a romantic night is golden, with the one you certainly love waking up to you in the breaking of the morning right? To feel them stir and pull you closer, yawns and sleep eyed smiles. Not if you are James Moriarty and that one you have in your bed is John H. Watson. This could prove to be exciting, but before we do, Explain it one more time!
> 
> How will Moriarty die? How can John live?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know he abandoned you right? -JM
> 
> "I most certainly did not!"
> 
> You took forever. Not like your usual updates. -JM  
> "I was already amazing, I had stuff to do, and besides, you know how much more awesome this chapter is now I have had a while to work on it.
> 
> Regardless, you guys never change. -JW
> 
> "Well I am happy to see I am muched loved by you guys, hope the wait was not too long, I have GED classes soon!!! So it may prove to be a impediment. I'm also learning Japanese, but the studies will come first! So as always my beautiful readers and fellow connoisseurs of fine literature, Comment, kudos, bookmark, whatever is your fancy, but for the love of the Goddess in the very least!!!!!!!  
> Enjoy <3  
> Ciao <3

_Shit, shit, shit, this is bad, this is so so so , so very fucking bad!_ John had woken up, and when he pulled the covers from his face, John had done the math. Every ounce of Moriarty's brain was trying to process the situation as best as it could with a dull ache as a result of the previous night.

“Wait, I can explain. Nothing happened, at least I think nothing happened.” A pillow was thrown at him, despite the softness, it had hurt a great deal, both his face and his heart was injured. The hangover had contributed to it. Nails dragged in his head, mocking his _condition_

“I don't bloody hell believe you, first the pool, and now you are getting me drunk so you can do what? Torture me sexually Bugger me in the bed?!” John's voiced raised in anger. _I'm not enjoying your anger am I?_ This came as a surprise to him, this was the first time some was angry and he did not take pleasure in listening to it. _Perhaps it is the hangover..._

“Johnny, no I would never do that, and besides I was just as drunk if not more.” John looked around for his clothes laying lazily on the ground.

“Well, I'm not about to waste one more second her-” He tumbled off the bed, falling to the ground. He had attempted to grab something, but the lingering effects of the alcohol had impeded him greatly, causing him to stumble and fall. Moriarty got up immediately, pulling the blanket around John to cover him.

“Thanks, Ow, my bloody head, why did I agree to this shit anyways?” _I'm not entirely sure either Johnny. Please forgive me.._

He stared at John with eyes, full of pain and agony. He grabbed his phone from the night stand. Unlocking it, he sent Moran a text.

 

Bring me Two tall glasses of Water and two Tylenol. Be quick about it -JM

 

Moriarty put his hand on John's back, John flinched, looking up to see Moriarty falling down on to him. His hands messaging his back tenderly, bringing out a warm comforting reassurance.

“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” John's accusations sounded off the walls, rebounding onto Moriarty's bleeding ears, right before Moran brought in what he had requested. He set it down on the night stand by John. His gaze wavered with discontent and disappointment.

“Making sure you didn't hurt yourself, or anything stupid while you were drunk.” His eyes scanned over each inch of skin he dared to uncover, trying not to peek at Johns semi-naked form altogether. Small soft bruises, nothing too serious had shown up, a scar however was very prominent on his shoulder. It had been from a bullet wound in Afghanistan, and an exit wound was just as beautiful.

 

John had felt the fingertips press lightly, as if appraising an ancient priceless vase. He then noticed the mix of emotions on the man's face. Moriarty seemed oblivious that he saw. _How can someone so smart and yet so naïve? He looks so broken, like someone made him watch his own heart be devoured._

“And the blanket you put on me?” He asked the Consulting Criminal. He reached to his forehead, the headache was starting to get worse. His face twisted a bit. The now observant Moriarty had picked up a glass of water and a pill.

“Here, drink this, it will take the pain away, and the Tylenol definitely helps.” He gladly accepted the offer to his lips, drinking the water down in long slow sips. He took the pill, and washed it down with the last of his water. He felt his eyes give off suspicion.

“You didn't answer my question you know?” He sat there on the floor, hair a mess, his head was hurting less, but it still hurt, and the most dangerous man alive was kneeling in front of him, checking his vitals, and making sure no muscles were torn or damaged.

“Oh, well I wouldn't want to be almost completely naked on the carpet of someone I barely knew much more hated with all my guts now would I?. Besides Johnny, you looked cold and it is cold in the room as it is. I cannot be a proper host with my guest dying from my unsavory prefrences of room temperature.” Moriarty grabbed the edges, tucking them tighter around him, bringing more warmth his to his aching skin. John then realized just how cold the room had been. If you threw water, slush would probably meet the floor before any remaining liquid did. Moriarty went to a small side closet and brought out an Identical blanket. He laid out on to the bed, bringing himself to lay his head right by John. John let out a painful sigh. Here he was with a world class Sociopath,in his bed, and the man was respecting his space by using a separate blanket? _He is so confusing, at least the blanket smell nice. Wait, that smell!_ It was then that John recollected what had brought him to look at who was behind him. His eyes wide with fear. He got up, threw the blanket on top on Moriarty. He turned on his back to pull the excess off. John quickly took his chance to jump on to him, the doubled covers holding them closer at the sudden course of action. He sat up, causing the blankets to fold behind him. His legs straddled Moriarty, he tried to ignore the Biggie forming beneath him.

“Well Johnny, I had no Idea!” the annoying words came as he worked at the buttons on Moriarty's shirt. Each button made the monster slithering in his stomach grow louder and move faster, demanding what it wanted. His heart was racing at the same pace, screaming no, how he could stop what he was doing and lose the risk of seeing it. One by one, he felt like he was racing to his death, singing to his poison, sharpening his own guillotine, but then the shirt slid off his arms, and the guillotine came crashing down on John, severing his life, bringing the only one he had ever known to an end. A bitter horrid end that he didn't want, because while the arms had lots of scars on them, What his fingertips were searching for were three big ones placed along his right arm to the edge of the man's shoulder. They looked strangled, daft, and out of place next to the hundreds of neat precise rows that kissed the skin his eyes gandered at. His fingertips moved over the scars, his eyes were struck with shock. He knew what someone with those abilities like Moriarty suffered and the things they did to lose boredom that came with them. He had spent hours wondering who he was, who was this stranger he felt pain for, who was this person that was so defeated that let him, a complete stranger himself, tend to their wounds, the wounds they didn't want to be tended to, or to be loved. He never felt so lied to, betrayed, defiled and tainted, used, like he was believing a belated lie he himself created for his own down fall. The dance he stared without hesitation, without knowing whom he danced with. He found himself gasping at the sight, he had then noticed his hold on his breath. _The Devil dances so sweet._

“John, I can explai-” a finger was placed to his lips. He simply repeated the same motion Sherlock had done to him, wrapping his hand around Moriarty's waist, becoming entangled in the man under him. Moriarty's eyes were in disbelief, they cried that this was a dream. His mouth left open and stunned. No words could be formed by the man he held onto. Lips parted, short breaths, and wordless screams. John tugged at a cover, encasing them once again in its web. He hated he felt safe like this. Moriarty's a spider He didn't trust the man, he despised him, and above all else, he still believed this was all a lie, some form of manipulation, perhaps the entire events over the past few weeks was all set up, but he did not care, because he could indulge in this sin for a few seconds. He would allow himself to believe in the lie.

“I seriously hate you.” He let the words soak into Moriarty, watching his reaction.

“I know Johnny Boy, the feeling is mutual, but for entirely different reasons.” He assured John a little more with each sentence.

“So when am I leaving?” His question hung in the air, breaking the illusion that time had indeed stood still for their encounter.

“When ever you feel like it, but I prefer you to be fed and feeling better before you leave.”

 

 

Moriarty worked at his phone.

cook us some breakfast Sebby -JM

I am not a maid -SM

I over pay you, know where you live and I have an hangover.

He didn't bother putting a signature. He waited for the smell of breakfast to come into the room.

“There is a pair of new pants, shirt and dress shirt in that top droor in the closet to your left. I promise not to peek.” he climbed under the covers completely to hide so John had his privacy. Surprised John did not take the notion, he instead pulled him into his arms. This is what we call spooning. He wasn't sure what to make of John's sudden advance on him.

“Who said I was ready to get out of bed.” Shivers went up his spine. He was not loosing control of this situation. This was his game to play, he was the one with all the right pieces.

“John Watson, I suggest you try not to be seductive, I am a man who enjoys consuming people mentally and physically. I by all means do not understand the words moral, space, nor ethical , and you are a heterosexual retired army doctor with PTSD that is slightly bladdered.” John looked like he was at war with himself, two opposing sides that he could not listen to any reason.

“It is alright, I will play nice.” He retreated from his advances, pulling John's arms tighter around him, he closed his eyes tight. He had hoped the moment would last longer, but he broke away, he had to lead the day. He grabbed something casual that somehow survived his closet in the pit of his expensive suits. He had to leave this face of his, he had be Moriarty, he couldn't show this weakness. _If I am weak, then I cannot steal John away, playing fair just isn't my game Johnny Boy._ He left the room, shooting forward to the kitchen, Moran had left right after finishing up. The dishes were in the washer. He brought out some plates, arranged the silverware, and his microwave had been replaced along with he window. He herd the foot steps of a certain doctor.

“That looks good. Good to know your wealth is going somewhere wisely.” John sat down at the bar, digging into his plate before him. He was an audible eater at times, sometimes John would make a noise of delight, other times he would chew without a hint of taste. It fascinated him a great deal. John barely noticed his interest, this was surely bliss. Seeing him in his kitchen was a dream. He barely picked at his own food. His stomach wasn't too happy about last night.

 

 

John felt guilty to be enjoying his time this morning when he should be strangling Moriarty's neck, and bashing him against the walls in the flat. He didn't want to believe this was the guy he met over two weeks prior, but it was the truth, Moriarty could have been manipulating him, but he had not known John would save him, the cuts were jagged, left with out precision unlike the rest, he was surely on the verge of more, but since then, no more appeared, If all Moriarty wanted was his company, then could he do that? Would it be okay to do something so harmless? The man obviously did not harbor any true attraction to him, so it would not threaten his knackered questioned sexuality. He barely put up with both him and Sherlock's affections for the sake of keeping them sane. Yet at the same time, it would threaten his entire existence? This was hell, and he was dancing with the devil. This dance was rushing, and he didn't know what to do. _The devil dances so well._

 

Suddenly, Moriarty got out of his chair, he left for another room. A rush of relief entered him, but he knew he was likely being surveillanced one way or other. He took no pride in being there, he took no effort to hide how he felt with the looming eyes of a certain criminal on him. His breakfast had not lasted much longer. He felt full, but something nasty chewed at the lining of his stomach. Silence danced around in the flat. He did not have a chance to speak with Moriarty any further. Someone came in, a taller man with short hair, military grade at that. He was escorted out into a cab.

“You will be taken back to BakerStreet now, fair and directions have been prearranged, good-bye Doctor Watson.” the man gave no hint of care nor interest in him, he seemed more like a bug on a windshield to the bigger man. This ride proved to be only 30 minutes away from the flat. He could be wrong, but his estimate of time was close at most. The floor boards creaked still, Mrs. Hudson could be heard about, moving things around, a tea kettle was overdue, and a record-player was herd in a parlor.

Life had returned in an instant, the smallest of things remained unchanged, unaffected by his position. This was something he had hoped would dissipate, but it kept crawling back to him, Sherlock passed out on the couch, a jumper of his covering him up. This could prove to be the funniest site, because despite his size, military training had done a number on John's strength, so when he slowly picked Sherlock off the couch, he carried the larger man up the stairs. Sherlock's feet dangled, displaying how funny it looked to have a rather below average height person, to carry an above average height person on his back. He hoped to not wake Sherlock, for once, this morning was on his side entirely. Sherlock's body went up the stairs and through the hallway with such ease, a slipper however had fallen off him, but John would get that later for him. _Damn, why are you so heavy if you never eat nor sleep? After this, I am giving you a huge piece of my mind._

It was a task getting the door open without dropping him, but it had passed, and he was now attempting to lay Sherlock into his bed. It was more plush and softer then Sherlock's. Soft hums and hushed snores filled his room, but he had no time to think about them and what they reminded him of. The room did not change, the bad was still made and he pulled a cover on the older male. The covers blanketed him nicely, he himself was rather tired still from the previous nightsendeavors. They looked tempting, with the promise of a much more larger source of body heat to go with the tempting deal. _Just for one secon-_

blackness hit him. He lost the world around him with the warmth and familiarity of the comforter. Down the rabbithole he tumbled, he could not find where he would land. The smell of mint waffered through the air, grinning at him with the most delicious sharp teeth. A stray laugh, the sounds of foot steps. The air got colder, and he for a second thought he herd a single cord of the piano being struck. He waited patiently, there it was again, then a different cord. His feet moved forward, then it grew even more colder. The subtle keys stopped, now it was surely his imagination, the darkness was lightning up, and a deep red appeared. It flexed and grew, becoming wall. An archway began splitting, screaming in its development in the darkness as he came closer to the image forming in his sheepish view.. He walked in, and curtains fell down behind him. There was marble tiles, red posh velvet chairs, a Solid Black Piano, a rather mischievous James Moriarty. His eyes met John's, a spark shot through the pair. On a cue, he flicked his fingers out, it sang beautifully. The song was familiar to him in one way or another. Skill was nothing that could explain how Moriarty's fingers touched the keys, no it was unearthly, so good it had to be demonic.

“Oh Johnny, would you explain it again, so well, that I'll understand.” Moriarty's voice sang out the outline of the cords, like walking down a stairwell with your hands on the old iron railing, snakelike , smooth under the touch. He would make eye contact with him every other cord. _It sounds like Frank Sinatra._

He sat down at the table, a white teacup had began filling up with tea. He sat in silence, listening to his composure while he drank his tea. Once empty it filled with coffee, this was his love and hate, he loved them both, but he could never figure out which one he loved more, if only he knew. This atmosphere was surely comforting. Moriarty's fingertips placed webs on each key that was used to play the notes that unraveled before him. He then noticed the soft white dress he himself worn. It looked to be more of a robe then the former, but it was lace sure enough, like spider threads woven into such a strange sight on him. Moriarty fleeted his place on the Duet he had been sitting on to take his hand, he gently set his teacup down on its saucer. He was pulled to his feet by the man, in the background fingertips made of webbing danced in his place. The melody was softer wit more grace, but it kept the same note rhythm and cord, the pitch was lighter and higher then the original piece. He stepped into turn, forward, back, Moriarty shifted him to the right, lead him backwards, then a shift to the left, moving forwards once more, turning him again, his mind had taken its own leisure time in figuring out he was dancing with him. Moriarty smiled, sharp teeth wavered in between parsing of his lips. Their heads bobbed to the classical tune, Moriarty flickered his fingers between his own, they danced in themselves as they danced with their feet. How odd it sounded to him. To dance with fingers, while the feet had their own enjoyment. Moriarty's eyes grew blacker and blacker by the moment. Spreading across the brown, slithering out the white, only Obsidian graced the orbs. Tearing into John's heart, searching for a weakness, a chance to steal it, to devour him all so malicious. The pace had picked up slightly, but it was surely much different then when he walked in the room. Moriarty was eating up the time and the space in his head like a parasite. He was being courted, by all bloody means, he was being courted by the man whom destroyed lives, brought about decay and wreckage where ever his fingertips touched, yet they were dancing with his. Slowly it subsided and his chin was lifted to face Moriarty's eyes. Soft minty lips graced his, pulling him in, stealing his breath from him. The room grew colder and colder, the Devil's touch was freezing, yet he stayed there, his head laid against the man's chest like a blushing maiden. Without noticed, he was suddenly sitting back in his chair while Moriarty changed the tune to London Bridge. He exhaled softly, taking in the next cup of Early Grey.

 

He was at ease, but James Moriarty had a different situation.

 

Moran tried to calm him down, he had even slipped something into his recent habit of coffee, but nothing would sedate the man who had taken up setting the flat on fire. Three chairs were broken up, candle oils poured all over them in a corner with cereal boxes. Irene came in stomping, she abruptly slapped him very hard. The sprinklers went off, Moriarty slumped down, the sedatives only achievement was making him incomprehensible. The man seemed to understand he set the flat on fire.

“I take it my brother in-law had a wonderful night?” She inquired to him, he felt her eyes stabbing his heart, she smiled nasty, telling him his entrails could be her next meal. Those eyes broke down the room bit by bit.

“In fact they had me bring them home drunk, unable to properly walk, but it seems he is upset about something else to do with Watson. He is completely losing his grip on the criminal underground because of that rat.” She looked at him with a sigh. Her phone was beaming to life as she typed a long set off messages, he winced every time he heard the enter button hit. The sound of a fire extinguisher went off, the sight of a blond haired woman marching to fight the flames was caught in his view. She did not need much effort, he sprinklers gave out the flames nicely. She started at breaking things down with her eyes. Her face made no changes in emotion. Her fingers snapped, and with it, men came in to take a hold of the slipping Moriarty.

“I can't let you take Mr. Moriarty away with him in this state.” His words felt heavy, he regretted them the moment they were out of his mouth. She clunked the extinguisher against his head, he fell back into a foamy puddle. She revealed a gun from her under shirt, it was then used to back him up the side of his face. She looked unintimidated and unimpressed.

“First, you have no right to even consider giving me any orders. Second, if I ever have any knowledge of my kid brother being drugged by anyone, especially a low employee of his? I will literally fuck you with this gun. I will personally make a custom holster out of you.”  
In the flash of a second, she turned around, pulling the trigger, a finger was shot off. Irene wattled off to it. She brought out a white handkerchief to pick it up.

“Thank you, I think I will be taking this.” She followed the blond haired woman out the door, he had to leave very fast, or else the authorities would be questioning him what went on. His line of work would become compromised at that point. He took his suit and wrapped it tightly around the fractured bone, the pain was very real and he mourned the loss, but he had to waver all options, this was the best one.

 

 

Mary had a nice day, Irene brought her the prettiest blue flowers, they rented a movie for later, her job at Bart's was smooth with nothing extreme to attend to that would shatter her perfect day, but alas, being a Moriarty was a curse in the least. She herself should of expected it, that something would come along that would bugger her day up at all sides of fucked up. Her Irene caught word of the _mess_ becoming aggressive and out of hand. By time she got there, the flat's fire counter measures were taking maters against fire that had most likely been started by James. Then it hit her, he was on the floor balled up, like he was scared and unable to process anything. He eyes showed no response to anything, which gave away substance abuse. _I know he would not do something so stupid as taking too much of something._ The sniper caught her eyes. She wasted no time in securing her fear in his eyes, like a quick chain reaction between chemicals, she unconnected, leaving his molecules to connect with hers, she remained the same, but he became an entirely different substance. It was like dread, but in its wake, it left behind unfathomable fear. She smiled all so sinister, grinning like she was about to eat his heart out, to make him watch as a part he could not replace was cannabalistically torn bit by bit by her sweet teeth. She felt content not when he was cowering, not when she saw a tear fall down his face or even when a finger became “displaced”, but when she turned around, he could not move or breath at that point. She would have to have his stomach pumped to get out whatever was left unprocessed in his system. _I should not have to strike fear in my brothers employees._ Irene was giddy, but behind it was true concern for the man that had tried having her assassinated multiple times before she accidentally met his sister. Not even Moriarty's top men knew he had any living family, she herd he had fake documents stating he was an orphan. The liability that Irene would have staged a romance with her to save her own skin was high, this was granted any knowledge was taken about her existence. Moreover, it had been four years prior that she last saw him, that was by accident altogether. Irene only found out on the timing of another attempted of assassination, which Mary deduced was her younger sibling's work by the look of their uniform. Westwood really did suit their frames more then others had been able to do in the past, but seeing she had a respectable job, she could only conform to societies norms, however boring they presented, she loved how the love she shared was safe, untainted and unconditional. Man after man came in to carry her brother for her, taking him down the five stories to the car waiting outside. No one would surely call the cops for now, he had most of the neighborhood paid off she assumed with his line of work. _Goddess, I hope you have this place with a back up plan or you have a mess to clean up._

Send in Doctor Molly, we need immediate stomach pumping and autopsy -A.G.R.A

In Process -X

 

She punched her favorites list, locating Bart's, it was dark, she knew Molly was on duty, but t didn't matter, she had the money and means to ensure she would be there, seeing she was a specialist surgeon that had worked as double staffed on her personal payroll. Molly was a liability that could ruin her, give her away, but being that they both worked together, she was able to converse, talk and even hangout without it being unusual in the least. Any of her men would be seen to, and a case of Irene being injured, she had assurance Molly could do the job. She worked as a mortician, she studied the bodies, preparing them, doing the autopsy if death was questionable, which it was more then none. She had secret talents with a knife. All she needed was a scalpel, some thread and needle. With those she had it all. The human anatomy was like the nails on her fingertips, hard, familiar and workable.

The car puled in a haste to the back of the hospital where she could surely have him in without any unnecessary hassle. It was fairly easy, men rushed him in, holding him up, the lesser amount of staff present for the night shift helped lower the rate of suspicions. It would put a thorn in her side to explain later with more witnesses. This perhaps would be a rather long and tedious night. It hd been a relief no one stopped her men when they saw the pale, clammy face of her brother, it screamed death, his eyes were black pearls that erased his beautiful brown irises. Molly had a place set up for extraction and counter reacting of what might be in his system. Irene covered my eyes as they stuck the tube down his throat, it sucked up quite a bit, then coal tar was used to revolt anything left, she didn't see it gladly for Irene's hands, but she herd horrid noises emitting from his mouth. She noticed her breath was hitched and began the task of calming down from it all. Irene patted her shoulder, she looked up to see him stretched out, and molly running rushed test to see what was n his system. After the third test they concluded it was an African drug that acted as a sedative, but the amount had been too harsh for a normal person to physically handle without expiring.

Please be a Dear & _secure_ Mr. Moran in location 4G8N -A.G.R.A

She didn't receive a respond text. Moriarty was coming down safely, and some scan would be enacted later to see where the damage is if not any. Her men were dispatched for the sake of convenience and her having some time to breath. The night was simply one long drag of a cigarette, her own cigarette to be exact. She never smoked, unless it was for her own good. At this point, Irene had taken up to brushing her hair. Singing a soft melody. ~ _Hush little star, remember whom you are. Sleeping in the clouds tonight. Blanketed in the moon's light. Hush, shoosh, my little sweet, may you find dreams that lift you off your feet. Now close your tired eyes so soft, while mother rocks you aloft. Hush little star, I collected your dreams in a jar. Now let them go, to dance o along the wind. But do not be scared to come back again.~_

It had been the same melody our parents sang to us when we were little, and these great storms would come and we would run into our mom's arms. Nostalgia overcame her a little too much, so she took yet another long drag while Molly took down his vitals on the chart she had been keeping record on. She looked optimistic, but she knew better to be. Her brother could not be killed so easily, but being brought to life was a different story. This was indeed scary for her, but she could not afford to be effected by it. She loved him so, he spent so much to escape her and disown her form his very existence, but she in a sense did not care, she done even more for him. She looked for Mollies laptop, something she could use gratefully. She didn't ask to use it or the password, she simply typed in Mollylocked and it gave a sweet song in reply to the password. She automatically began opening up tabs and entering web addresses to have the instructions she needed. First she needed some things from the flat to be imported to a safe house then she needed to take certain actions to fix the mess he had started. _Will I get any sleep tonight?_ Irene wrapped her arms around me firmly with reassuring warmth. “No love, I don't think we will.” She whispered a sigh.

 

 

Eight damn days. It had been seven damn days since Moriarty's little fiasco, and he had not herd anything from the man. He felt so tossed. Like a toy that just got old. He tried occupying his time away from thinking about the damn Tosser of a Bloke, but he found little to keep his interest. He tried many things to sate it. His blog became stagnant with the lack of cases taken up by Sherlock. However, there was this string of crimes that had popped up five days ago. Robberies, break ins, a few murders, and two fires occurred at one flat. Once during the day and the second time in the middle of the night. The second time it burned down to the ground, but gladly it had managed to not spread. Sherlock advised it was a set up, but he brushed it off. The murders didn't interest him either. Business rivalries he stated. The robberies he didn't bother with. He had his telly, but he didn't care. John was just bored, not like Sherlock would get, but it felt tedious and annoying, especially since Sherlock at times when he almost lost it had taken up sitting on him. This means litterally out of nowhere walking to him, plopping down onto his lap and going to his mind palace. John was helpless, because Sherlock was rather heavy, and he doubted Sherlock would comply with no John, because when he would remove himself, he would find himself now sitting in his lap with Sherlock's arms around him. It felt like tango, but only sitting on a couch. He would give up and watch telly. Sherlock made hm his tea whenever he felt John had something buggering him, which would go off into another raid on the teabags. John found loose leaf did the trick by the fifth cup. Sherlock called in Mycroft for a surplus of it in concerns of how “John” was getting lately.

The position at Bart's consumed his attention, he would take in any case if not every. Day one he had amazed every one. Day two he began implicating the methods to treat the emergency patients and move on to the next case. By the fourth day, he had treated so many people, that he was temporarily laid off due to excessive work. They tried to have him see it as an act of good will, but he saw it as them denying him a fix.

 

By the Eight day he had enough. He left to go to the coffee shop near the flat. It was dark outside and he started to make it a habit of taking evening adventures. This one was however very much needed. The past two days Sherlock had buggered him along his walks. This night he escaped unnoticed. It felt like a weight being lifted from him. He had passed the large windows, but as he neared the door he saw someone in the very bad wearing soft casual clothing. It was no one other then the mysterious disappearing and reappearing Moriarty. John stopped outside out the door, taking in a few deep breaths to prepare himself. He walked ahead to the counter, ordering his drink up front. A nice sugary and creamy mess. He loved the sweetness, but the cream made him roll around in circles. He slowly approached the table Moriarty was seated at.

“Well this is an unexpected turn of events.” He sat his coffee down, and Moriarty looked startled.       

 

 

 


	6. Back to the start of the dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say you love me, I'm afraid to go back to square one, at this rate we are getting nowhere,, and how long can I take this love?
> 
> Who is Shelby, why is she so of interest, and just what happens next?
> 
> Enjoy lovelie!
> 
> John hates it  
> Moriarty hates it  
> and Sherlock hates boredom...  
> Mycroft loves cake. :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooooooooh, sorry, lots of school, family issues and an ex coming t stay for a bit (he's gone now) :(  
> Anyways my lovelies!!!!! I had this to be short and now for regular updates to begin!!!!  
> Yours truly has so much instore, the reviews and comments are my support, fueling me with all your love, sharing in my journey down this road!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am ever wanting to know what you think!!!!
> 
> I know this chapter is a small one, but it was all this chapter needed, and for ever being patient with me!!! The next chapter (which I will be uploading tomorrow, will not only be small, but pure smut ^_^ as hinted by cliffhanger <3)   
>  Wait, does this mean I finally get some?!?!?!?! -JM  
> ehhh you will have to wait and seeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

He looked like a wreck, but on the outside he was sporting his usual face. Unamused to those surrounding him, caring only for a fix of sorts. It would only lighten up to his presence.

“Oh Johnny Boy, how nice of you to stop by and have a cup with me! So how is Sherly?” Moriarty tried selling him butter. They both drank their bliss in silence. The sound of sighs, clinks of ceramic, the small shop was full of silent life.

“He is bored as always, finding ways to cope. I wasn't planning on have a cup with you, but somebody must love me.” He made the last bit sarcastic, Moriarty shoved away the cup part.

“Yes, well I am rather happy. No need to spoil a golden opportunity. This is indeed sweet and delicious.” He gestured to the atmosphere. People came in with their lives, no matter how broken or perfect, they all drank the same thing. It was a little bit overwhelming, but this was a place everyone could coexist, so why not a retired army doctor and a consulting criminal?

“I can agree it is mutual ground.” He settled on the reality. Moriarty was waist deep in coffee. The smell had been full of sugar and cream, calling over to John who awaited to be engaged in a higher conversation. Moriarty seemed to understand the basis for John's presence, but he however strung it along. John's fingers wrapped carefully at his mug.

“So, about the other night.” Moriarty reached out to stop him, signaling for him to wait for him to put his cup down.

“It was fun to say the least. I hated the next morning. I have to say, you know how to drive a man to drink,” Moriarty stabbed at John with a wink. John could feel aggravation steeping under his skin, but he left a collected, but soft expression. Moriarty began eating a glazed pastry.

“I was talking about the alleyway. What happened back there?” Moriarty's chewing slowed to a stop. He tentatively swallowed the sweet. Moriarty seemed to mentally brush himself off before responding to John's statement.

“I had been fixing a problem when you rudely interrupted me. Always the good doctor I suppose, loving the broken, making their problems yours to deal with.” He felt his hands tighten around is mug. His eyes stared into the dark empty ones of the consulting criminal. He felt even more agitated at the taller man that sat before him.

“Cutting yourself away in a dirty cold unfamiliar alleyway is not _fixing_ a problem, in fact, it creates more then you started with. You honestly made me feel sorry for you.” His words lashed out at the calm man who wore a smile under a cup of coffee.

“Honestly Johnny Boy, I was bored, and you should know more on what happens when a high functioning sociopath is left understimulated.” Those eyes smirked, taunting, as a snake catches a field mouse in the garden. The air was filtering, an attempt to thin out, only to backlash into a toxin filled atmosphere between the two. No on would be the wiser of what was transpiring between them.

“So about dinner-” Moriarty caught the sentence faster then he knew what to make of it.

“I believe I'm the one who is supposed to ask you out on a date Mr. Watson,” Pale lips curled, scales tightened, air was stolen from his own.

“I-I wasn't inquiring about th-th-that at a-all.” Moriarty's eyes pulled into a smile, shining with happiness. Something new slid in the atmosphere...

“No, it appears you were not, but I was.” The tables between them turned around like a dance composed of several intelligent twist and turns. A new cup was set down by Moriarty's now empty one. Suddenly, John noticed something. The action seemed rehearsed, but not entirely, more learned, as if it was procedural. Something that had been repeated. How many cups had Moriarty been through, how many hours had he spent, was he waiting for him? John tried not to think about it that way, only to smile, hiding his findings between the man and his coffee.

“Well, I am not sure what to say. Last time it ended up with me falling over your bed laughing and promptly being shown the door once you had your fun.” Moriarty's brow raised for a second, contemplating no doubt, a hundred ways to go about his defense or which strategy he should use next.

“Well, you honestly don't have a choice, and I did not plan on getting drunk, nor did I plan on you staying that night, besides, the fair is in town and I want to ride the rides. Its boring without a chum to spend it with, huh?” His face sagged into a default expression. He did not care for Moriarty's excuse, nor his honest truth, but there was something there. Moriarty doesn't do anything without it benefiting him greatly, and John surely has nothing about himself that would benefit him, unless it had to do with either Holmes, which the most likely case scenario? It most definitely did. In the end, a strangled sigh escaped, it was all to familiar to him in all honesty. It was the same sigh he had breathed weeks and weeks ago in Tesco, when the same man buggered him, buggering him about the same bloody thing. It was becoming an annoyance, one he refused to prolong. So he declined the offer.

“I am sorry, but my answer is no. I will not be _enjoying_ your company anytime soon.” Moriarty's smile never wavered, nor did it fade.

“No worries Johnny Boy, its in town for two more weeks. I'm sure I can find some company by then.” It felt calming like this. The night growing old, sipping coffee with a criminal mastermind, and chatting about things between the two. Moriarty chipping at him, and he would simply brush him off.

“I truly do apologize for what transpired that night. I honestly did not wish for you to be so inflicted due to my ignorant actions.” This itched him. This serious sparked him.

“Hahahaha, seriously? You are a high functioning sociopath. Ignorance is not your perfect line of skill, nor is it something you are familiar of” The letters falling out clumsily were only a testament to his compromised composure. He felt a great deal of comedy out of the words Moriarty released out in the open. His laughs calmed down to a slow halt. _When did I become to comfortable with him? He is no doubt the enemy._ The casualties between them sickened him greatly, surely coexisting was one thing, but harmony was another he had not even considered, nor had he welcomed.

“Well it may not be my best area, but I must admit, I did not see either of us getting drunk, nor did I plan on sleeping in my flat that night.” John gave him only sarcastic smiles. Little ones that danced bit by bit, locking in the same on Moriarty's face.

“Now only to see what misfit trouble can we get our selves into at a coffee shop.” This killed John, he had barely recovered by time Moriarty hung the joke in front of his face, leaving him with faltered smiles, half held in snorts, and strangling cries. _Alright, its not so bad.... not so bad..._

“Pour salt in someone's coffee, no wait, perhaps we will drink so much caffeine, we pass out in front of the shop!” This turned to be quite pleasant. _Not bad..._

 

Moriarty had expected several things, but not to have a snorting, laughing and breathless John Watson across from him. However, he did like the idea of him being breathless. The fact he made a joke in response had hit him harder then he thought it would have, before he knew it, he himself had began making noises. People turned heads, but Johnny would not notice too soon. _Oh you look so nice right now, like you have been so tired, and now you can allow yourself room to sigh. What terrors have I brought you love? I hate myself so much._

“Be careful, the IceMan may not like us acting like fools.” John's fit became even more frivolous, his jabs succeed in upturning the noises he savored, locking them away for a rainy day, one other then this night. John was smiling, hiding the ghost of such pain. The girl he had grown to know slowly with the name Shelby had walked by, setting down a soft french vanilla cake. Wafers lined the sides, and cute strawberries were set on top. He did not know how many days he had spent there, counting the endless ocean of people, dishing out boring algorithms. He found no amusement with their plights to prolong such boring lives. They themselves were useless, like the dust balls floating around on the floor. She had been the only one to succeed in noticing him, the only whom noticed more then most. She truly observed.

She laid her eyes over John for the briefest of moments, scanning him, recognizing she had finally met the infamous sigh she witnessed to grace his lips time and time again. With such little motions she winked at him where John could not notice. It was the subtlest encouragement she could give.

John's eyes were magnificent, dancing all over the foreign delight before them. _She has the worst timing I could think of._

“Ah, desert is here! Gladly I have someone to enjoy it with. I would recommend it next time you are in here Johnny Boy.” _Such a harsh blush you have..._ John shifted a bit, reaching out with his butter knife, only to be halted with the cake knife in Moriarty's hand. A soft clash sounded throughout the metal. A fork lifted up to pry the knife away while he sank the metal into the white delight between them. Fingers turned, hands shifted, a deserted had been split into six even parts, sweets for the patrons of the establishment. It had to be an authentic french recipe, it had rivaled with a sweet he had found in the olden heart of France. _I should take Johnny to France one day so he can see the countryside..._

The light is his eyes were glistening, but no true word could do the scenery justice, bring light to the reality of how beautiful they were. He took it as a sign, one being how John did not abuse his recent given tab. It was that possibility, or the idea he was not as adventurous as Moriarty had previously proclaimed. Either way, he set a slice onto John's plate, giving him an offering of peace with such a toothy smile. John accepted it reluctantly, eyes betraying him, they told the story of how he himself had no idea how to accept the dessert from the criminal mastermind. If John wished it, Moriarty would have him a thousand cakes, riches, jewels beyond his hearts desires. It was getting out of hand, but he how could he not with the site of a strawberry eating John.... //Note: John looks cute eating strawberries//

 

The atmosphere thinned out a little more between the pair, relaxing the tensions that had been so clear earlier on. They sat in a mix of silence and smiles. One would offer up a joke, they other would relate to it, it had brought a miss Shelby Threadings to smile. For what seemed to be weeks on end, the notorious supervillian Jim Moriarty had fallen in love. It was difficult for Shelby at first, she did not know whom the man was, but only he hid away pain, this pain devoured him slowly, much like how college students devoured the espresso they offered on the menu. At first she wanted to help, but after speaking with him many times, she learned he was not like most. This brought her to research just whom he was, only to find the notorious enemy of her ex lover. She was enticed to find him doing something he should above all else deem tedious, but yet there he was each day, in and out of the coffee shop, only offering small bits of the whole picture, the boy he was so stuck on. This boy who could have no idea. They seemed to be hitting it off well. She even tried her hand at pushing the romance a little with his favorite cake on the menu.

John felt the weight of the evening dawn on him, bring his laughter to a gradual stop, mourning the ever moving clock, listening to its taunts. Moriarty's efforts seemed pointless, he would not gain whatever it was he wanted through him, but he did see some fun in pretending. _Not bad, pretending..._

“Well I really ought to be leaving, no doubt Sherlock's gone out of the bin and lost himself.” Moriarty stopped with the abundant pleasantries almost all at once, sending chills of fear up his spine. _Since when do I feel fear?_

“Yes, I suppose you are right. Shelby, you have my account, I am afraid this cake will have to wait.” The same girl from before appeared as Moriarty dusted himself off before standing up.

“Do you want me to send it to the same address as always?” Her eyes gave a rehearsed question, almost authentic and new. He gave a slight nod.

Moriarty's hand gestured outwards to him as if he needed help getting out of his own seat. In silence, in darkness, he held Moriarty's hand, fingers almost fully laced together, finding comfort, as if they fit like pieces of a puzzle. Each step pained him, each one brought him farther from the shop and closer to his departure from Moriarty. One he had mixed feelings from. Several sighs were exchanged as they approached the door too 221B. With a soft bow, Moriarty's hand lifted his, placing a soft kiss to John's hand. Eyes locked firmly between them.

“Until next time my doctor, ciao.” It was weird how in a matter of seconds, he was no longer outside of the flat, how Moriarty faded away into nothing and the smell of roses filled his flat. _Wait, why does the flat smell like roses and candles?_


	7. Let's dance without the words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing is so delicious isn't John, like writting poetry with one's body, but how beautiful can  
> I make you dance -??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT! THIS IS "FUCKING" SMUT AND IF YOU DO NOT LIKE TO READ ABOUT SEXUAL INTERACTIONS WITH SOMEONE OF THE SAME SEX "BOY ON BOY" THEN BY ALL MEANS, SKIP THIS CHAPTER, DO NOT READ IT, I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR YOU COMPLAINING ABOUT THE FACT OF HOMOSEXUALITY, WHEN THIS WHOLE FICTION IS BASED ON HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONS AND ROMANCES. Thank you for reading, enjoy my lovelies!!!! I do not own Sherlock BBC not any of its characterssss <3
> 
> P.s yess, I did in fact got it updated before the notion of "tomorrow" became invalid hahaa. I had school (6-9 PM) also earlier a friend needed to use my computer for applications, and house work was to be done, alongside backyard work.. :b however I love you and have not taken the trash out yet, because I am devoted to you guys ATM tehe mewww ENJOY BITHCES.... jk you no bitches. :3

He could expect a number of reasons for the current atmosphere of the flat itself. An experiment on the olfactory responses, accidental formulation of chemicals resulting of the smell. Even Mrs. Hudson stopping by for a spell, leaving her perfumes waifering around, or lighting a few new gifted candles before leaving, but he could find none of which to satisfy the means. There was a soft glow coming from the bathroom, light seeped from the dimly closed door. Curiosity most honestly killed the cat. His feet dragged slowly without much protest as to where he was going, it had him hooked, like a moth to a flame. Obeying to its shift and sways. The flat laid out into complete darkness, only the routine of his everyday life allowed him to take up the journey to his upstairs bathroom. The soft glow was inviting to him. Like a smile in an Autumn day. The scent of roses collected like dust to the walls, enticing him further to witness it ever so more closer. _Well I do need a bath, I guess a short shower couldn't hurt before bed._ His fingertips flicked the knob, sending the nozzle to hiss with life. Several lit candles met him with gaze, dancing around in many flickers. A soft aroma fell away from them, a few in the shelf's of the shower, collected on the counter. His clothes slid off without even the slightest hint of protest. The cold air laced over him, the spray of the shower quickly transformed into the breath of a dragon, filling the now closed off room with its steam. With a held back breath, he ducked underneath the lively dragon's mouth. Muscles clenched and retracted, relaxing and aching. The heat raced down his skin, seeped deep into the inflicted tendons and layers of muscle. It began the daunting insurmountable task of unwinding them, freeing up the knotted mess up and down his back, hands reached for the lather, a scrub messaged evenly with the white pearly liquid, leaving behind only suds. Skin replaced with a film, oils wept away to the drain, crying out as they disappeared further and further away. The water died down as he shut the shower off. White towels played on the sun-washed skin. Drinking up the water. He didn't bother with getting dressed, his body was tired, begging him for sleep despite the wake up call from shower. The floor remained relatively dry. His lips blew out the candles, insuring they would not cause any unfortunate accidents.

_Bloody figures Sherlock would completely be irresponsible and leave something burning, in the unforeseen possibility of a house fire._

 

He reached for the door knob, opening himself off into the darkness once again, the bathroom door shut behind him, sealing away as if it had not been opened. Pure darkness whispered in his ears. Luckily the trudge across the hall to his room was not too complicated. No light was offered inside, with hopes, he made it to his bed without the adverse effects of stumbling or knocking something over. He pulled over his comforter, burying himself in the covers. The night silenced even the sound of his own breathing, he stared out into the void, seeing nothing entirely in its mass. Only thoughts and objects kept him company, eyes would not permit him anymore. They gently closed, allowing him to release a strangled sigh. The sigh itself was audible enough, so audible that it stirred the other occupant of the bed. Behind him, he could feel a much larger figure stirring around n the sheets, waking, feeling, becoming more aware of the new company. Long familiar slender fingers reached for his hand, interlocking with his own. Sherlock's breath licked the back of his neck, imploring him to take notice of their situation. True he and Sherlock have shared a bed quite a lot lately, but they had hardly strayed from small momentous kisses. This was small, that much was true, and it most certainly would look innocent, but in the situation first hand felt thick in the air. A ghost was between them, haunting them, who would break the ice that was rapidly growing, what chemical reaction would follow suit as the reactants are released?

 

Suddenly he felt the color drain from his face when Sherlock's breath wasn't the only thing wet on his neck. He could feel the small brace of teeth grazing his shoulder.

“Sh-sh-sherlock?” A slender finger paused him firmly, snaking away to his chest. The fingertips dug into the structure of his upper body, almost caressing him. The assault on his neck was feverish, and he was reluctant to pull away, to end the physical acts transpiring between the pair. _This is bad, this is so very bloody knackers!_ Despite his mental retaliation, his body would not move forward to protest, eft locked into place, a most compromising position. Sherlock's right knee shifted forward, causing his own to follow, resulting in his leg hooked onto the bedside. He wouldn't of believed it if someone had told him, but Sherlock was exhibiting signs he was knowledge in what he was doing; what he was doing was in fact highly sexual and involved a lot of harsh detrition. Sherlock's free hand was working around on his back, gliding, learning, searching. _What is he searching for exactly?_ They surveyed him, John was too focused on the taller man, because he did not notice the attack on neck had slowed to a stop, nor did he notice the angle Sherlock's mouth was, directed on the nape of his neck, he however discovered it when his thumb abruptly stopped at the center of his mid back. Then both teeth and thumb dug into very sensitive skin. _Fuck!_ His body convoluted, sending him into an auto-response, shooting outward, making his neck press more into the aggressor.

John's mouth flew open at the sudden assault, allowing Sherlock's other thumb to make its way to open mouth, laying into its muscle easily, sliding around to toy with his mouth. An index finger took its place, allowing him more control. _Oh God what am I letting him do?_   He was mangled between the administrations. His cheeks burned red, eyes were becoming hazy, and his tongue had started to hang more out then he'd like on a regular basis. His body was heating up, and he was more then sure Sherlock could feel the change in body temperature. His lower body was starting to react to the aggressive actions done onto him, two more fingers were added into his mouth; he gagged admittedly, the sudden change without adjustment caused his body to react how it would normally. His body was making more and more saliva to accommodate the huge mass he was supposed to swallow, however he wasn't swallowing it, but his body had not known any better. His body was conditioned to this reaction, it knew only to make way for substance, to allow his body the ability to obtain nutrients. _Sherlock, you are certainly going to kill me._ He could feel the movement in his throat, they seemed to explore and study more than mindlessly play around, Sherlock purposely jabbed at a certain area, forcing him to gag harshly on the fingers, creating more saliva then he knew he could, fear suddenly crossed his mind, he could easily choke on his own saliva and suffocate. Sherlock wouldn't let him die surely, but if this was some form of experiment of his, surely he would allow John to come close, playing it dangerously to get the most accurate data he could from the sandy blond. Either way he was not comforted by the notion. He was thankful when they withdrew from his lips, hoping it was due to Sherlock noticing his concerns. Sherlock's knee pushed once again, separating John's legs even more so. It had not hit John what was going on; how could he when all his nerves where being assaulted feverishly, sending him in a deepening hard blush, one that obstructed him greatly. Sherlock stretched out his fingers in front of John, in the dark he could see a thick coat of his own saliva webbing on the hand, so thick that it made a webbing on fingers that had not graced passed him lips. The hand disappeared from his sight. He could feel the thumb sliding down his side, making way the curve of his arse, alerting him of Sherlock's intention. _Alight John, this is the moment where we stop this right now and get some bloody sleep._ Sherlock's fingertips stopped abruptly over his entrance. Lips pulled away, moving to right below his ear, placing a soft chaste kiss to his neck; Sherlock plunged a finger into his body. The knuckle pushed into him, his mouth stretched out wide as so did his body to the intrusion. Then a very audible hiss escaped Sherlock's lips, they quivered against his neck, allowing him to understand the reaction to the man behind him.

“God, John your body is so bloody hot!” The words hung so ill between them. The words felt stranger to him then they should of, but when he thought about it, the reason Sherlock said it was due to the temperature of his inner body, but how Sherlock knows this is, because Sherlock is inside his body.  _How odd it is to say  
Sherlock is inside me..._

The digit that had been pressed into him began to move, wiggling inside, directing his knuckle in search of something. _What the bloody Hell is he doin-_ Sherlock had found it surely, because when his body once again convoluted, he could feel a smile spread across the pale man's lips. A greedy smile of satisfaction and malice. The index finger slid out of him, he let out a pent up sigh he had been holding. This was earned a quick intake of breath when he felt two slick fingers penetrate him harshly, returning to earlier administrations. However, this time he had to separate rhythms, stretching him out more little by little, he could feel a scissoring motion inside him. His breath was ragged, panting at the movements. He himself was growing excited. _How am I being aroused like this?_

Sherlock licked his lips, John grunted softly and unevenly.

“If only you could feel how good this is right now John. You feel _fascinating_.”

Sherlock seemed to bask in his body, marveling at it, taking in both the sight and texture. The motions on his sweet spot were systematically, as if they followed an equation he could not crack, one he was sure Sherlock understood fully. Both fingers spread far apart, leaving room to insert a third one. _How much bloody more does he think I can take?!_ They shifted, encircling the certain spot Sherlock has grown fond of. John's tongue hung out, dripping with saliva as he became even more heated, backing up into Sherlock, rocking with his movements. Shivers crawled up his spine, snaking as their bodies danced. _Sherlock, please stop this, please end this now._

He felt more pressure on his nerves, several shocks ragged through his body.

“My, my, you are reacting rather well.” Sherlock's free hand slithered around his now aching erection. A thumb toyed with the head, a small amount of precome glistened in the dark. Much to his surprise, the effects of Sherlock's fingers amplified the attention to his member. This earned Sherlock several unintellectual grunts, slurs that sounded much like Sherlock and Gods, but could not be entirely be distinguished as a word at all, much less two. Sherlock sped up his fingers that which messaged into his internal tissues. This was when Sherlock began pumping at his erection, releasing sighs, moans, and hard intakes of breath John could not himself control.

“Come on Doctor Watson, sing for me. I can play you better then my violin. Oh, and believe me, I am most certainly an expert at the violin. However, I think I like _your_ music more, compared to the instrument itself.” The smirk Sherlock placed against him was forgotten as his body began its warning signs. Faster, and harder Sherlock went at him, building and building up more and more inside him, waiting until-

 

Almost at once, his inner muscles tightened hard around Sherlock's fingers, resulting in the to struggle to continue at the pace, the hand on his member gripped hard in expectation. Then as though he had been prompted, he came all over Sherlock's hand, feeling slightly glad it did not get onto the sheets. The orgasm seared through him with burning mercury. Everything at once was all too sensitive for him. Th blankets themselves felt heavy and soft. He could hear the other man's breath uneven and left short.  At this point, his eyes had adjusted very well to the darkness, but no matter how wide his eyes went, darkness was creeping in, creeping in from all around the edges, until darkness surrounded him, and he had lost all touch with the world. The last thing he could remember feeling, was the sigh his body gave as three digits slid out of his body, leaving a cool space in their wake.

 

 

The darkness smelled like cinnamon, and all he knew was he walked towards something in the darkness. It was a familiarity to him, like something he knew all too well. Then darkness thinned out as he came to a curtain, it was draped, allowing a small crack of light to escape. He gripped it, moving inwards into the room full of piano music, red and black tile laid out into checkers, most like the ones you'd see on a Chessboard. There was a small round black table with an Iron worked chair. His legs felt as if he was going to give out. Like they begged him to sit down. He then so obeyed their demands in full. He turned his sights to the man at the Piano. Then man at the piano in return, turned his head to gaze at him. Piercing black eyes stared into his soul, the lips parted slowly, as if preparing themselves to speak, a mouth full of razor sharp teeth greeted him. A comical masquerade mask adorned the demon's face.

 

“Oh John boy, I do love this Piano, but honestly, you sound even more _delicious_!” From underneath Moriarty's short raven hair, two small horns peeked out. Moriarty's tongue flicked out, making its way around his lips, as if licking his lips before devouring a meal.

“But not as delicious as you are going to taste!” The grin widened, the eyes shot as wide as they would go, the key of the piano shattered as if tension from Moriarty's hand was broken.

 


	8. A dance with death, guilty pleasurable cake, oh Devil of mine, won't you let me lead?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I've got you, under my skin~<3
> 
>  
> 
> Rip my heart out, tear my skin off with your eyes. I love the way it hurts. 
> 
>  
> 
> John cannot help what he feels, but James can help who he associates with.
> 
> Desperate measures please.  
> Moriarty is ashamed, and John likes it that way.  
> Can he redeem himself and make things right?
> 
> Love all of me please.  
> I will bare my heart to you.  
> You are all of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so very patient my lovelies!!!!!!!! School, and a job at a Thrift Store is tiring, plus right now I have issues that are pressing for time and it is killing me lol. I find it not having time, but finding the motivation to carry on once I have it and I'm exhausted.
> 
> Also, I made you guys a fanpage for reviews, questions, suggestions, and so much more!!!! I know how everyone does FACEBOOK, so maybe you guys will review there??? All in all, I just want to know if you enjoyed it or not.   
> So like the page, comment, and get to know the Fanfiction Author that is Spidders!!!!!! <3 yhu all!!!!
> 
> https://www.facebook.com/Spinningthreads.weavingwishes
> 
> In the end, just enjoy to your hearts contempt <3

Mycroft Holmes was a man, but he indeed was not just any man. He was an entity, like the collection of cells that made up up own body. The bigger complex form in the system. Many would whisper gossip saying he had a good deal of power over the British Government, but only few knew the understatement that would recall. He was the British Government, head of Parliament, wrath of order. He held power over many, sought out a mass control, but there was only one thing he could not.

“Mr. Holmes, you have a delivery that just came in.” Anthea waltzed in, carrying a highly familiar package. This would be the 17th one this week.

“Thank you very much Anthea, have we any word on the negotiations of Waller?” The smell swelled up to his lips, playing around sweetly.

He had received two other ones, but this one had a specific smell, the only reoccurring one he noticed. It was of good taste too. The box was white, threaded string held it from falling everywhere. Eyes sauntered over the letter opener. Inside would most likely be a fork to his dismay. Anthea barely gave any notice, she knew it was not her place to judge him, nor had it been her right to care in the first place. The sound of bison hide skittered over the polished marble, his eyes shot up, alerted and filled with fear. They betrayed him, his face stood in its stature, no emotion was displayed, yet his eyes showed a little boy caught red handed.

“Mycroft Alister Holmes! I see you are fancying yourself a nice sweet slice of death, hmm?” His beloved Gregory had entered the room without permission, catching him in the sinful act, the session before committing the crime itself.

“It is hardly even a threat my dear Lestrade.” Lestrade's eyes cocked, showing they did not take the notion well. He knew he was most certainly asking for it. The only thing that had actual power over him was in fact The D.I Gregory Lestrade. He would never admit it openly, but it did not change the reality of a very much so upset D.I gesturing to the mysterious cake sent to him on a daily basis. He had teams working on it, but the CCTV cameras had blind spots during the hours of delivery, everyday for a week without fail. A shadow brought him a box filled to the brim with the most malicious sin. He had the cakes taken a part, dissected, which after many hours, concluded it was an ordinary unfinished cake someone had cared not to eat completely. The fall was on him then. Some unknown spectator knew his weakness, and he had allowed only a few occasions where he had consumed a slice. He would take no more for the sake of his health that was prized so much by Lestrade. Lestrade saw him as a God, someone he could worship, and find the same treatment unselfishly returned. Anthea watched with no emotion.

“And I bet you are just going to sit back and watch him, slowly killing himself, huh?” Anthea was verbally hit that time, she had not predicted his arguments. How could she begin to? Gregory was unpredictable, dumb where you would not think, but surprised to see his intellect above the common person themselves. Her face was concerned as he slammed his hand down on the old Cherrywooden table. Lestrade was far more agitated by her lack of response.

“Fine, go ahead and eat yourself away! If you need me, I will be at the morgue!” With that, doors clashed shut. Anthea looked as though she had been shaken up, hair was not as neat, glasses crooked. Her composure was underlying.

“Anthea, take this cake and send it into the chemical lab for testing. I have more pressing matters to attend to.” Her look shifted back to a cold emotionless servant to the British Government.

 

 

MENTION OF SMUT

 

It was gorgeous for Sherlock, the afterglows of John's skin had him simply mesmerized.

He would be lying if he said he did not feel like a guiltless pervert. John's heart beat was soft, fluttering against him. It would spike up, leaving curiosity to wonder as to what he was dreaming. Sherlock knew the doctor dreamt, all the signs themselves were exhibited before him every night he laid beside the man. He took in the body, the smells radiating, the sweat collecting, and the sweet softness of John's insides. Without a thought, he carelessly slid in to fingers with much ease. The entrance had been well stretched out, allowing him to enjoy with little fight. The blond slept peacefully, and Sherlock observed so much. The sounds he had heard hours ago were brilliant beyond compare. The previous week he had began to realize something very important he did not understand fully. John could still his mind, leave him thoughtless, allowing him to be fixated even on the smallest of thing, some of which as the texture of John's internal tissues. Like silk, moist, smooth, and he loved every second he had of the poor sexually abused doctor. The curiosity began when he had wondered much further about the man he had his fingers in. He spent several countless hours researching about the acts of homosexual intercourse. He had composed an entire masterful skill on the matter within four days of the question. He received a few email from his _dear_ brother expressing concern for him as to why the only search history found on his internet provider was relating to exhibiting homosexual acts to others. John was the result of an high;y successful experiment he collected data on. He could only hope John would not disapprove of his actions.

 

MENTION OF SMUT

 

Day light would not be creeping in for several more hours. Many thing took place at five in the morning. By this time, Sherlock had “slipped out” for air an hour prior. He most certainly had to clear his head. So many things were transpiring. Another, Moriarty had a business meeting with a few people about some new “business” he could profit from. He had to pay for all those Westwoods somehow.

Mycroft was sound asleep, unknown to the new treat that had entered London.

 

The alarm clock could have been nice for once. John had three more days of vacation, but due to one of Sherlock's experiments, the alarm clock was stuck with a set alarm. He had not yet been able to replace it. Slowly he shifted around, trying to wake up further in the hopes to shut the alarm off. One hand reaching over to the table, just long enough to hit the switch, only to fall off the bed in a sliding motion once it was silenced. Pain shot through him. _Bloody Hell, guess Sherlock decided to sleep in his own bed last night._

John slowly sat up, reaching over to the bedside in the hopes to stand. He made it halfway when he collapsed again. _Bloody figures my legs would tire out after all the walking I did in the last two days._

Knees, inching towards the dresser, he pulled the drawers out to grab a few clothes before reaching setting out to the bath room. The flat was still dark, shadows covered his naked form. He heard no life down stairs, luckily for him Sherlock was most likely still asleep.

The scene mad him feel embarrassed even without anyone to witness him crawling around to the bathroom, reaching for the door knob, falling a few times before succeeding in getting in. Getting up on the toilet was the easier part, turning on the light was another. _Now where did I hide the Epsom salt?_

Retrieving the _bath salts_ , he started on drawing a bath for his aching body. Fingertips working into tendons while the hot water pooled in, rising with the steam, the Epsom salt sang like rain as it dissolved. Carefully, he stepped into the hot brew, easing in, letting out a cry he hoped no one had heard. The water pulled him under, rolling onto his skin, leaving nothing left of him to the world around him. Bubbles collected from his lips, escaping to the surface. Tension drifted away, nightmares replayed. Cinematic film spun. Fingers stretched and relaxed at the scornful dreams.

Legs spread a small amount, allowing hands to wander at the source of the pain. Ghostly hands danced tentatively. _Why am I feeling this way?_

Emerging from the water, drinking in the air.

Fingertips reached closer to the infliction. The water created friction as they slid over the entrance painfully. He only felt provocation to the thought. The tips slid in with little resistance. Suddenly the air became even more moist, clinging to him as he savored the moments passing by.

“ _Ah, desert is here! Gladly I have someone to enjoy it with.”_ Jim's voice rang in his head. Licking his lips, daring to take the imagery further along. _Okay Watson, what are we doing now?_ John was by all means heterosexual, but he found himself even now, pushing the boundaries of his sexuality, for what entirely? All of it was in the name of Jim Moriarty, or was it James? He did not care at that point, with two fingers slowly but surely diving in deeper, he found the tip of his name forming on lips, trying not to let it escape. _“Please John, call me James.”_ Another resurfaced inside of him, causing him to slither back into the grave he set out for himself.

“ _John Watson, I suggest you try not to be seductive, I am a man who enjoys consuming people,”_ He was drowning in his sin.

 

 

 

 

 

Moriarty had it with his men, not only had they given the wrong address to his new “Business” associates, but they managed to ruin his favorite suite, the result of his coffee being mindlessly knocked over from its place holder.

The men feared for their lives and left him at the scene of the meeting. Sebastian was on hand, but his recent injuries made him less of use than he had in the past.

 

The men meeting for Moriarty were a bunch on smugglers, they specialized in pottery, simple artifacts stolen from Egyptian tombs. He would no doubt love to acquire one for the doctor Watson, seeing as he had an affection for the culture. They found it highly difficult to smuggle them in with the inspectors, however, he found it stupid to be even requested assistance on such an elementary problem.

“Well gentlemen, I hope you remembered to bring the fee of my assistance. I am a very busy man if I do not say so myself.” The head of the corporate stepped forward, gesturing his men to present to him the suitcase they heavily guarded. With a few works at the combination, the case opened up to reveal several beautiful, irreplaceable works of Egyptian Jewelry. Something only befitting of a certain blogger. The prominent man smiled as though he alone had just become an asset of value.

“Mr. Moriarty, I am so pleased to have your expertise in this matter.” _That is very much so right. I am the expert, not you, filthy worm._ They began to open up files, riffling through them, pulling specific documents out.

“I do believe everything is in order Mr. Moriarty.” _Why does he act so high and mighty? Who does he think he is to call me by my name._ He looked over them once before trusting them into Moran's hands. They men looked as though they awaited to shoot him there.

“Yes, it appears to be. Let me make a few misconceived things clear shall I? You do not address me by any other name than sir, next time your goons join you, they will most certainly lose numerous appendages, and by any means, If I find you are fucking around on me, I will not have your head, but every single inch of your body.” The elderly man was startled at what he had heard. Surely it was the first time in quite awhile someone with his success to have been talked down on. Either way, he did not care what the man thought of, only that he better stay in line. Moriarty was a god, Mr. Sex, and he did not take someone standing taller then him very well.

“Sebastian, could you please phone in Mathew, I need coffee and a replacement suit. Also, have those chumps beheaded will you?” The man could still hear him as he walked out the door. Sebastian whom was lagging behind smirked at them with a toothy grin.

 

 

 

Sherlock was called in by Anthea herself on business regarding London's security. That was all he had been briefed. It had to be urgent, because they would not let him gather up his blogger. Should they not understand, he would had clearly pointed out the necessity of someone to take notes, draw possible conclusions that would ultimately allow him to see different angles, eliminating their problem faster and with more efficiency. However, they insisted he come immediately. He was transported to Mycroft's personal office to discuss whatever it was so pressing. Anthea lead the way.

“We will be sure to “locate” your friend very soon Mr. Holmes.” She laid a few folders down for him to go over. Mycroft had his head buried in his hands.

“Issues with Lestrade I presume.” Mycroft let out an audible sigh, one that scaled the high walls over and over in reverberation.

“Yes, he has it in his head I am the one ordering these blasted ca-, how would you assume I am having problems with someone you have no prior knowledge of me knowing, and what would signal it being overtly personal?” Sherlock took pleasure in the frustration gathering in his elder “Brother's” voice. He loved having one over the man.

“Just a fly on the wall mentioning something regarding your _love_ life.” Mycroft's facial expression did not worsen, but simply conformed to its usual self, a blank slate for business. In the back he could here the foot steps of his John Watson.

“That is a matter we will cover later, for now we must discuss trafficking.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, quickly setting it down as John had been ushered in without a warning.

“Well, I'm bloody here, so shall we talk about why I was dragged out of my favorite market?”

Mycroft straightened himself, taking a deep breath, preparing to go over the so called trafficking issue he is having.

“We are experiencing several numerous rumors regarding illegal merchandise being transported to London and the surrounding areas.” John sat back, giving off an agitated look.

“That is the problem you called us in here for? You could just search warrant for any materials, use a drug hound or whatever it is you are looking for.” There was a brief pause in the air, and Sherlock could feel Mycroft was hiding something he was attempting to put off till the last second.

“That would be easier and more convenient, if the Items that were being bartered over were not live people they could pass of as passengers. This is a highly sensitive case Sherlock, I will be needing you to begin pulling resources immediately.” That was an understatement, as soon as it was mentioned they were dealing with human trafficking, Sherlock pulled out a phone, typing away at it to several people while listening to the older Holmes.

“When did these rumors start?” John did not want to think of the damage that could already be done. Mycroft picked up a piece of paper, looking it over.

“About three days ago. It was overheard in a criminal ring that a famous Piper was starting his business in the U.K. The term Piper refers to the head of a human traffic Operation. To be able to slip past unnoticed, it would take a great deal of planning, even for someone so notorious. We are investigating any possible connections to the crime lords in the region. I have no doubt my _brother_ will find something of use soon.” Surely enough, Sherlock was locked up tight, hidden away from them in his mind palace.

 

_This better have nothing to do with that blasted criminal._

John swept his eyes across the information carefully, deciding it was below Moriarty toengage in such low antics. _I don't even care anyways._ Mycroft took to a pen, signing off paper after paper in a wave of frustration. It was hard for John to notice it, which was much better than what most people would compare to. However, most people did not have to babysit sociopaths in almost every aspect of his life. 

“So, you and Lestrade......” He trailed off as Mycroft finished a stack of papers. Eyes darted upwards in exhaustion.

“Have been going out for six years now, yes. In recent, he has taken interest in my health due to the results I received from the Hospital, ironically the same one you work for.” John had pieced it together, it wasn't much of a shock as it was something he would not of figured out on his own.

“That is quite certainly a very long time. I know it will most likely blow over soon. You just have to see it from is eyes as if he was in your position.” Mycroft pursed his lips, the linger of an objection hung lifelessly.

“We both know I'm right.” The room grew quite for several endless seconds no one even noticed for moments until.....

“Private Yachts!” Sherlock bursted forward out of no where with something he did not get entirely. 

“It makes sense. To hide people in plain sight, they must be smuggled in plain sight! And how do we do that? By showing “friends” around on private uncharted cruises!” Mycroft pulled out a cellphone, begging to type away furiously. 

“Sherlock if you would return to your flat for awhile, whilst I execute search warrants and proper procedures.” Sherlock nodded, turning around to the doors. John mouthed the words,  _Talk it out_ . 

Mycroft spared him a single gesture of acknowledgment.

 

The flat was a total mess. Sherlock pulled out files, charts, and had two laptops with different databases , several numerous windows, and saved tons of information. Videos of anything that has pulled into the ports with in the last five days was displayed on a screen brought in. He himself was trying to pull anything he could along side the Consulting Detective. A cup of Peppermint tea sat right next to him. Admittedly it was not his first cup since they returned. No, this was his seventh. Evidence eluded Sherlock ever turn he made. Sherlock was rather convinced he made the right decision. Sherlock grimaced at the mess. Nothing connected, nothing would added up correctly, and so he folded. 

John however did not give up, he to his unforeseen dismay, flipped his phone open to dial Microsoft’s contact. It rang, clicked, rang, clicked, rang clicked, and finally he was handed over to the “British Government”. 

“Hello John, I take it that you have a lead of some sort my men nor I could find?” John did not like where he was going with this idea.

“Is it possible that you have been following Moriarty as of late?” Mycroft's breath stilled. 

“Yes, to the best of our abilities, we have monitored him and any business we can. We however, have blind moments we lose him. It was become more occurring as of late, why, you do not suspect do you?” John really did not like where it was going.

“I think for someone to stoop the  _so_ great Sherlock Holmes, it would have to be someone who could rival him easily.”

“Yes, I agree, I am having my men skim through segments of footage starting four days ago. Thank you Dear Watson.” With a click, the phone went dead, leaving a dial tone. He sat down, more sinking into an arm chair than sitting though. The cup remained half full. Perhaps it was half empty instead. At this point, John Hamish Watson had no clue what he was doing anymore.

 

Hours passed for Sherlock. He was submerged in his thoughts. The national security breach would have to wait. He was now one another more important topic. The smell of John's breath. He found it to be rather intriguing for someone who drank six prior cups of coffee. John was typing away at one of the laptops he set up. He could not see what he was typing, nor what he was searching up. The look of aggravation gave away that is had to do with the case they were currently on. He did care about finishing such a remedial case timely, but found only failure at each attempt. Thirty two ships. Thirty two ships were searched, and yet nothing recovered that lead to anything remotely related. John frowned, hands moved to Sherlock's pocket for his cell. A few minutes it was returned with little to no invasion. The next best thing was to wait for something to show up. Something he needed as an edge. John seemed to give in to what ever it was he had been pondering, picking up a jumper, and leaving the flat promptly. Sherlock did not know what to make of the case for the moment. Everything had to come to light eventually.

 

 

John chastised himself for being rash at times, but it wouldn't hurt this time, would it? It was fortunate the walk to the coffee shop was rather close. He didn't need to be stuck there brewing on what ate away at him if the Mastermind was not there at the moment. However, the so called “Genius” was just leaving at the same time he was walking up. A bored paintless expression, that was until he looked up to John, then began to feign emotions to toy with him.

“Oh hey, Johnny Bo-” the Consulting Criminal's jaw connect with John's right hand. Moriarty's head remained cocked in a painful position. Laying still, waiting, unmoving.  _Oh bloody, perhaps I really fucked up now._ John could not waste a second, his rage returned, replacing the slight of fear he found. 

“Some fucking bloody genius asshat you are, you fucking bloke! You walk around like you own everything you bloody touch, like everything is in YOUR control, but you let some ratfucker into London to sell Fucking Children?!” Moriarty slowly raised his gaze upwards, head still locked in position, not moving for fear of being repositioned yet again. 

“Want to take me to a bullock of a time? Fix your mistake, impress me and you can take me out to eat again!” He turned around, not listening to the case of cake the man dropped while he walked away. He felt lighter. Sure, some people were watching from the glass panels, but he had been lost, uncaring of who saw what transpired between them. He didn't even care if they heard what he said.

Surely they were employed by the genius anyway.

 

Moriarty reached into his pocket, pulling out the transmitter. His face stuck in a blank state.

“Sebastian, please arrange a small  _private_ meeting with Mr. Roman. I need to have a word with him.”  _Oh Johnny Boy, seems like you don't like to play by the rules._ This was not going to be a good day. 

 

 

antics It had been exactly two hours since John had slapped him. Slapped James Moriarty. As if he was somebody. Well he was somebody, but it didn't matter. Well it does matter.  _John Watson you cute fucking prick!_ He had never ever been so conflicted.  _He had the nerve!!!_ The man he came to see was bound tightly to a chair. He had been watching him nervously for longer than he felt comfortable with. So he had to break the cycle he grew bored of.  _Seems like some one has been naughty_

“Now, didn't I tell you not to fuck around on Daddy?” He struck the man with the palm of his right hand. The man squirmed under the ropes and gag. Several attempts to reply. He smiled at each one of them.  _I can't believe John would strike me! Me of all people. Well that is not too hard of a concept to perceive._

_“_ You have no idea the trouble you caused Daddy. I lost a big count of credit thanks to you. Your little fuck-around-the-posey is going to have reoccurring issues, and I am not one to do redemption.”  _However, it was spicy to see the firecracker underneath the doctor's skin._

“well, what do you have to say for yourself?” He ripped the gag out of the elder man's mouth. The string snapped uncomfortably between his fingers. The man was gasping for air.

“I was onl-” He was struck again by Moriarty in the exact same fashion, cutting him off like he had been two hours and fifteen minutes ago.

“Do you like that? That is what I had to deal with thanks to your Bloody antics of insubordination! I own you pet.” The man coward a bit, sinking further back. 

“So much I lost because of you. Months of progress, months of planning, scheming. I ate commoner cake, for what? To have everything I worked for slapped right back into my face, and rejected.”  _Of course men like this make Johnny sick. He's the hero, the goody toe shoes who loves to preserve life, rather than take it._

“I can pay you back. The money I make has so much revenue off the product that it could make you richer than you ever dreamed. I can replace anything you have lost,” Moriarty's head turned to the side in thought. He did not need money. All the money in the world could never buy an honest man like Watson. No, it would take something more. “ _Impress me,_ _and you can take me out to eat again!”_

_  
So Johnny Boy wants to be impressed huh? Seems like it will take to more than erasing this scum from London._ He snapped his fingers, two men who were awaiting command ripped the sapp's shirt open, buttons flying outwards.  _I will do better than that. I will erase him, I WILL ERASE THEM ALL!!!_

 

Morran did not like his job all the time, and to see black eyes filled with lust turned him down in such a way. The devil walked the earth, and he devoured everything in his path. He looked away the second the blade Moriarty picked up plunged into the man's chest. He would usually enjoy it, but the laughing that erupted from his employer was very gruesome. It was deranged, impulsive, nasty, unfitting of a man like Moriarty. It was something horrible. It was turning him inside out, exposing the demon he was. The Devil had a true name. This name was pure incarnate. From the blackness that engulfed Moriarty's eyes, to the nails that elongated, round sharp teeth glistened. The men watching it take place would not live to tell the tale. His finger flicked over the trigger twice with a speed that awarded him good merits. In a matter of seconds, the men were lifeless.

 

 

John had been steeping on Coffee and Tea for almost two days after slapping the taste out of Moriarty's mouth. This was when him and Sherlock were summoned to Mycroft's office to be briefed on the development in the case. The floor was cold, stone that had been polished to the point it had not edges. Anthea as she called herself, was texting away in the background.

“There has been a recent development in the case. All the children have been discovered, returned home, and the ring has been shut down. This morning we finally tracked down the business partner Moriarty recently made deals with that was the cause of all this commotion.”

“This morning, don't be ridiculous Mycroft, it would of taken at least two days to track down families, destroy a webbed syndicate, and to ensure nothing remained of its power.” Mycroft looked down for a brief second, a small breath and looked at Sherlock.

“That is because before we even knew who to apprehend, nor the means and area of which the captives were captivated, the entire thing was shut down, its members brutally slaughtered, and the children sent home to their respectable families.”

“Then why do you need us here if everything has just mysteriously “fixed” itself?” Sherlock raised the question against his brother, prying for whatever he was withholding from him.

“Yes, about that, it appears that we are receiving similar accounts all over the globe.”

Sherlock seemed to take interest to the mention of a bigger picture Mycroft offered him.

“I see, but what does this have anything to do with us at all?” Mycroft smirked, towards Sherlock, not trying to delay it any longer.

“We have mass accounts of rings and operations being slaughtered, and being disfigured in a certain way.” Sherlock eased on the older Holmes, waiting for him to elaborate even more.

“The members have a name carved into their upper body.”

 


	9. My name Dances on your lips, doesn't it Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is shell shocked, but that is what he gets for confiding in the ever unstable and changeable James Moriarty, or is it Jim?  
> How does Sherlock feel about this?  
> How does Mycroft feel about this?!  
> Who the Hell is Pride? And why does he call Moriarty Wrath?
> 
> I think shit just got weird again...........................................................................
> 
> It gets even weirder next time as things get even more domestic....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry it took so much time, but my computer died during an update, and classes started right before I could get it working, and then I feel into the cliche look of being a college student. 
> 
> He means shit happened and around 5 guys are making his gay little life confusing - M
> 
> Don't be ever so intrusive and rude James. He had issues, and he still has issues, but he's working on them- JW
> 
> Alright you two, go over there. Now where were we?!?!?!?!  
> Oh yeah, sorry <3 Here's a nice fat one!! I also have some more twist for my readers to follow on my webs!!! They should be amazing and unique!!!!

                The room was opalescent in the way it was made of dozens of whites.   
Shades clashed and faded. It was almost like there were fifty shades of white. John could feel his pulse climbing the disturbing walls slowly. Like the vines on an old tree, desperately trying to reach the sun’s rays. No one could be heard, but that did not mean their minds were silent.

                He already knew some bloody how who’s name was on the series of photos exactly, but he did not want to believe it, and he did not want to see it either, but alas, as Mycroft tilted the stack of photos towards him, he found himself sinking down into the arm chair, barely breathing steady. The room was nauseating to him, but he was letting it go without care.

                “Why me? Why is it always me?” Sherlock turned to put his hand on his shoulder, Mycroft gave him a questioning look.

                “Well you tend to associate yourself with people who are caught in serious affairs John, I wou-” His words were being drowned away from my ears. Only the sound of blood pumping in my wrist flowed through the threshold. His words echoed around and around. He had power in his hands.

 

 

He wasn’t sure when he realized it, but his own words transpired what had happened. He spoke barely even a few sentences, but here he is, thousands, possibly millions lay dead with his name laced into their skin like a mass branding. In fact, he could see laceration was not exclusive, as some victims appeared to have his name burned into their flesh. Mycroft slipped photo behind photo in front of him. He felt numb to each slide he presented to him. Then Mycroft stopped at one. A man was sitting in a chair. He was older, and looked dressed up for a regular everyday business job, but something was obviously wrong. He held a prompter poster a messaged written on it. “I made Daddy very angry. I forgot that Daddy always gets what he wants.”  He turned his head, before Mycroft could move to the next slide.  He didn’t want to see any more blood. He knew blood could come in a variety of colors, but he had never seen so many. He had not seen as much in Afghanistan, nor in uni. He hated himself for it too. He could face it, make progress, and help bring in Moriarty, but he knew it was time he climbed into his shell.

               

“Mycroft-” his mouth stopped in dead work. He felt drained of life, sick to his stomach, and even unable to make out all of the words he wanted to say.

                “John, I understand: how about you go home and get some rest. You have done so much for my _dear_ brother, but there comes a time where having you involved is not only unnecessary, but entirely selfish on my end. Sherlock’s gaze turned to him in question, and John could not understand what was going on any more. He half mumbled a sure, but he knew it got across.  He wasn’t even sure if he was okay with everything.  Athena appeared to escort him. Strange faces watched him pass by; leaving the secrets they did not know behind. He had to be someone important to have been in some semblance of a meeting. The floor was cold beneath his shoes, climbing up to his toes as he stood up from his grave, making way for sanctuary.  

 

 

                John stood waiting, waiting on someone to come by to pick him up. Athena typed away at her cellular device. Her eyes glassy, holding secrets he would never know. Several cars rounded, picking up several other people, as well as dropping others off. He tried to enter one that stopped in front of him, but she stopped him, someone came out, handed her a folder and someone went in the vehicle instead. Several more minutes passed until another car was produced, then he was ushered in. She stood there watching them drive away, fingers typing away.

The air felt stale, the car was silent, he could feel dread all around him, but he did not let it faze him.  

“So, Johnny Boy, how did you like my surprise? A real shop stopper huh? I must admit that I really out did myself now. I’m sure everyone knows what I’m capable of now.” Moriarty shifted his hand to the back of his neck, making his words burrow into his spinal cord, leaving him motionless.                                  “Why did you do that? You murdered so many people just because of me. Their blood is on your hands, and my hands practically.” The air became filled with rust suddenly, and from out the corner of his eye, he could see Moriarty’s stretch and lock. The sound of teeth grinding and cracking caused an alarm. Adrenalin filled his veins, the fingers intertwined in his hair tightened up, yanking him down into Moriarty’s lap. Silence froze the rust between them; he took in one sharp breath. Then the grip was released, and replaced with a soft patting. He let his breath go, escaping as Moriarty ran his fingers down John’s back.

                “When I saw your face, I expected something entirely different, and the words you said to me were in all honesty, a surprise. I had no idea someone was trying to pull a fast one over me, but I sadly was preoccupied, as I have been for the past few months. Now listen to me John Hamish Watson. The people I murdered were thieves, rapist, and child molesters.  I make no pardons, nor do I condone anything I do illegally, but I will not stand for something so immoral for power nor money. I ripped out an entire syndicate for you. I erased a branch of crime off the face of the earth. The least you could do is mutter a small thank you. I gained power, fear, and even a small monetary gain, that which is going to survivors that have been rescued. What I will have, is a date at the fair, and dinner. Does that sound good Johnny boy?” He nodded his head, Moriarty’s fingers caressed him.  He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew one thing for sure, Moriarty wanted him for something, and he could use that to his advantage, even if he didn’t know what it was.

 

 

                Moriarty liked many things, many of which were opal, onyx, and even silver.  One thing he hadn’t realized he liked was in fact retired army doctors. He was sure it wasn’t just any other army doctor he liked, but a specific and intriguing army doctor.

John had slapped him, like he was just a regular person in a regular everyday social interaction. John had caused him physical harm, but he wasn’t sure if it had made him angry. Surely he was angry once some undesirable things came to light due to John’s heated rage spouting out the surprising criminal activities his business associates were committing. He was not certain if it was their stupidity that made him angry, but he had absolutely no doubt what he wanted. He wanted to take John to the fair, have a normal date, maybe grab a bite to eat, and fall asleep holding the doctor, but there was only one way to do just that. He had to erase something. That filth practically destroyed his chances at that. He had to erase them for just that. Now, here he was, stroking John’s hair in his lap. He felt content, but he had no idea what contentment truly was. He could only guess that this was it. No noise, peaceful silence spreaded across him like a welcomed disease to offer him an end to agony. The car stopped in front of his flat closest to 221 B, Baker Street. By now John possibly knew where they were at. He had a fair head on his shoulders.

He released John from the confines of his lap, proceeding to get out, holding the door for John. The flat was obviously empty, clean, and basic could not be a better word for it. John’s eyes went over it for a second, taking it in, remembering ever so slightly what had happened the last time he was in one of Moriarty’s  flats. It wasn’t certainly romantic, but it had been certainly something.  He pulled out a stool, and John sat down. He grabbed an apple, offering it out to John.

                “Do you want anything? An apple, pastry maybe? Mycroft loves those.” John smiled, rolling his eyes, taking Moriarty’s apple from his hand. He listened to John eat, breathing, just existing. _How creepy must I be right now._ He turned around to make some coffee, dropping a couple of sugars into his cup, waiting for it to brew.

                “The last day of the fair is tomorrow. I will be there to pick you up around seven.” John’s chewing slowed down considerably. It was just right before sundown. His features stilled. Moriarty knew John must be thinking over it a lot. John knew he had no say, but even now he held himself as if he could.

                “I don’t see much damage to it, but this time, leave alcohol out of it, alright? I don’t want a hangover after spending a night babysitting you.” John chuckled to himself lightly. _So crazy he must be. Johnny Boy, did you mean to make me laugh?_ The next hour was spent talking about trivial things he usually did not consider valuable. John would slip up and say something compromising, but it almost felt nice. James rang the bell, letting him know it was time for John to go home. He didn’t want it, but there was always tomorrow for him right?

                “I guess I will see you tomorrow Mr. Moriarty?” He gave a small nod, hoping not to let James see right through him.    

                “Bye, John Watson.” The door closed, cutting him off of the world, and more importantly John. He wasn’t sure if there was any difference between the two to be honest. The counter clicked as a full cup was set down on it.

                “Well now, if I did not know any better, I would say that you are rather fond of that poor helpless boy.” Moriarty’s eyes lost color to his unexpected visitor.

 

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

                John took the opportunity to record the drive from Moriarty’s flat in case it served him any purpose.  There was sure to be some good reason why he might need it, like possibly leading to the capture of the world’s most dangerous criminal.  Either way, he was alarmingly becoming aware of the distance their flats were. It was not too close, but it was surely close enough for him to catch a bus to it.   
The man behind the wheel was elderly, but he was sure there had to be more to him than a little old man.

 Coming to a stop, he unbuckled, heading out without a wave bye. The door handle turned with ease. The inside was lit dimly, and he felt at ease. The migraine faded away like the over coat he shredded away the moment the door clicked, hands pulling up into his face, filling with his sighs, spilling over onto the floor. _I might need a vacation soon._

He began his ascent up the stairs.

                “Well, it took you long enough to get home. Strange how that is isn’t it?” Sherlock passed him as he made it half way up. He held his teeth tightly together, Sherlock stopped.

                “Yes, it is quite strange, thanks for pointing that out.” John let his grip of the railing go, and continued on without Sherlock in silence.

Sherlock was far below him by time he made it up to the flat. The sounds of people buzzing around in the bakery drowned out any worries, and any scattered thought was let go. His feet trudged up to the bathroom, his skin tightening, relaxing, aching, and sore from the stress. He needed to unwind a little bit. The tub faucet roared to life, the stopper swung around to the stream, sinking into place to stop the flow of water from escaping the bathtub for him. _Hmmm, Convenient I guess._

Water sloshed around in waves, beating against the tub without regret or grace.

Steam rolled up the sides, visions twisted and bended in their wake. His clothes shed like skin in response. The hairs on his arms stood up, prickling at the cold air, begging him to slip into the pouring heat of the bath.  It was nice to sink down into the water. To be submersed in something other than that wreckage he walked into, or the monster he cohorted with earlier.

 A white haze engulfed him. Faces came over him, flashes of red and yellow whipping around in cold jabs.  Venom from a parasite seeped into his arteries, screaming in pleasure from the magnificence of the vile and wicked crimes he has witnessed, transpired, and could had prevented altogether. Sharp teeth sunk into him, ghostly hands made of lead and turquoise lifted from the waters barrier, wrapping around him, nails-no claws stabbing into his chest, and they seemed to scream a name, moving in the shapes of letters.

An M for the Malicious greed, there was O for the otherworldly eyes, the R was a reminiscence that spun through his mind. Insanity sparked an I, an A of anarchy, T felt like the tears falling from his face, and the Y? The Y he did not know, but he could feel his sides screaming. He didn’t need to know, only that it was a monster he felt crawling into him .

John was lost in the haze of screams, he could not recognize his own voice, it was as if he had lost all his sense, even sight fell away from him, leaving nothing, but a blackness to him, and the face that came out of the water was none other than James Moriarty. _Bloody bloke cannot let me have one-_                             “One moment of peace my dear John? I’m terribly sorry that I disturbed your sweet little bath, but you see, I was bored.”  Moriarty swooped up from the water, cupping his face in hands. Those same hands had nails black as night, his eyes matched them so.  The toothiest grin he had ever seen sprang on him, sharp devils he was puzzled, left unable to process what was going on.

“Where am I James?” Moriarty tilted his head in a sigh towards him. It was startling in the least.  He did not know what to do in the situation. It was a shock to him.

“Yes, where are we exactly?” Our forms drifted into a stand onto checkered tile.  Red and black crossed in the pattern, making his memory gears grind. Moriarty waltzed behind him, gliding his hands down

“Not this place again. What is it with you taking my life from me, invading my space, and I can’t even get a nice bath without you creeping in on me psychologically. I’m not even sure what it is with Sherlock or Mycroft that you are trying to get out of me James Moriarty.” The mention of his name earned him sharp intake of breath he could feel suck around his neck, warm tendrils of air  left those lips, rolling over his skin.

“John, John, John, always the cutes in the bunch. Would you believe me if I said I myself did not know?” They waltzed over to the obscure piano, Moriarty seating John on the bench before taking a seat beside him. John had no words of protest, but fear rose from his pores.

“Why don’t you try to play a little for me? I’m sure you have a song just as beautiful as your face.”

It was true, he was scared of playing, but Moriarty’s hands guided his onto the keys, pressing his fingers down like a spider playing the string of his web. Then John realized Moriarty had been playing his the entire time, telling him what to do, so he knock the hands away, and began to the keys knew the best.

The air stilled at the keys.

 

_Well I've heard there was a secret chord_

Moriarty smiled at his sudden decision to take matters in his own hands, to not be scared and try something new.

 

_That David played and it pleased the Lord_ _  
But you don't really care for music, do you?_

The room was growing more and more still, as though the curtains were freezing, atoms were getting closer together.

 

_The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift_ _  
The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

Moriarty’s breath began to fall uneven. The floors tightened and cracked, pieces of the curtains broke off.

                “John, there’s something I should tell you.” The words were there, he could hear them, but his fingers did not care: no they could not stop.

 

 _Hallelujah_ __  
Hallelujah  
Hallelujah  
Hallelujah

Moriarty’s lips cracked like fine porcelain, he ran his fingers over them, lifting his legs so his could meet them. In that moment, the world around him shattered. The curtains fell away like a crystal chandelier shattering, the tiles shattered and evaporated before his eyes. Blood fell from Moriarty’s cracked eyes.

                “Shhhh, it’s alright, I’m here James.” Everything grew dark, even the form he was holding onto became nothing, and he was left suspended in darkness, until the view of the tub came back to him, and the tub’s waters were just overflowing onto the small bathroom’s floor. Cursing under his breath, John quickly shut the faucet off, hoping to lessen the damage already done. The water was cold by now. _So much for a nice relaxing bath._ He pulled the plug, laying still, hoping not to topple more water to the ground. Once it receded enough, he stood up, searching for something to dry the floor up. He found several towels at the base of the tub. He then began to collect the water, squeeze it out into the tub, and he would be repeating it for the next ten minutes.

 

 

 

He hadn’t bothered turning the lights on; he easily maneuvered around to his bed, using the blanket to dry the rest of his body. The night was coming in, and as it did, it took him in. This time no dreams came for him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The morning came in through the blinds, seeping into the room. Moriarty awoke to a still room. The walls were quite. He had a huge day ahead of him. Moran walked in with a cup of coffee. The soft scent of sugar lifted from cup, pulling his dreams out of him, the nightmare fading.

                “Is he gone?” Moran sighed and shook his head. He earned a long sigh from Moriarty. He took a deep drink of it, the delicious rick texture swished around. Moran walked over the side of his bed, tugging the corners of the blanket back into shape.

                “What should I do with him?” Moriarty set the cup to the side, grabbed a comb to straighten up his hair. Moran rummaged in the closet for a Westwood. Another sip of coffee earned a soft smile.   
                “No, he won’t leave. It is best to just make him some breakfast. He’ll leave eventually.”  Moran nodded before leaving the room. He promptly got dressed himself. _Today will be Hell, but that’s the price for this evening._ He walked to the kitchen where Pride was. He bit into Moran’s food with a huge smile on his face, and then turned to acknowledge my presence.

                “Well Pride, I see you are enjoying your home cooked meal.” This snide comment left Pride in a fit of laughter, only to burn out into his hands with a huge grin.

               “I will admit it is good, but it is as home cooked as the cheap donuts I bring my darling husband to be.” _That’s right, he has a unofficial fiancé. That’s cute._

                “So I take it he has not officially proposed in front of everyone yet then?” The saucer beside Pride shattered in an instant. He smiled, but it was faltering, his famous pride was bruised.

                “I will not take such filthy disrespect to my love life Wrath. I have one of the richest men in the world for a boyfriend, cute, romantic, and knows how to properly court someone. ” He loved it, and it made him smile all the more. This was Pride’s punishment for snooping around into his personal affairs. No doubt he had to make sure he was the one who had it made, not Moriarty. No, all that belonged to Moriarty was revenge, bloodshed, and all that bred wrath. That was who he was, the third deadly sin.

                “Either way, really cute one you got there, I wonder how long this one will last.”

 

 

 

 

                John enjoyed his mornings with a fresh cup of tea. Some milk and sugar was appreciated with it too. This morning however, there was a fire, and both his kettles were ruined. He learned of this when the alarms went off. Sherlock had already begun putting the fire out with the extinguisher he had to convince Sherlock to keep in a safe non-crowded place. Sherlock muttered something under his breath while John sunk down into his arm chair. A cleanup crew was called to fix Sherlock’s mess, but Sherlock had already started on cleaning. It was out of his character, and that was the first clue today was going to be different. He tried to pay no mind to it, picking up his fortunate book that missed both the flames and spray. Sherlock left when felt proud of the amount he did before the crew came. John took several breaks from the book to eat something, brush his teeth, and brush his hair.  Several hours later, Sherlock came home with a new tea pot for John to use, a few decorated ornate boxes with different teas and a huge box of black tea.

 

 

                “I thought you’d need some new tea. These pots are for you.” Sherlock walked over the kitchen counter, setting a few flask and beakers in the sink. The bags lay loped on the floor. He didn’t notice at first, but Sherlock was cleaning the kitchen, making room for the new things h just bought.  

                “And where did you get the money for the stuff you just bought?”  Sherlock shifted around to put a pot on, filling the sugar bowl back up.

                “I took Mycroft’s offer to be paid for this new case. It was convenient.”  He nodded as Sherlock moved about the flat to straighten up some things and clean.  It was different, but welcomed all the same. He reached about half way when Sherlock brought him a cup of tea.  A little milk and sugar swirled around with care. Sherlock settled down in front of him with his own black tea.

                “John, I feel as though I should talk about my thoughts with you. As of recent, I have been drawn to you.  I find emotion and comfort in you. Now this might come off as a bit brash, but I believe Moriarty has taken an interest in you as of recent just as I have. What he wants from you, I have no clue, but I wanted to tell you that I will not stop you from pursuing whatever adventures you would call it. At this point, you are the closest to Moriarty, evident from his little display from earlier, this being true, I believe you can bring him down. How is the tea John?”  His lips were pursed, but they hung like that. What Sherlock just told his was that he vaguely knows there is something transpiring between them both, but he won’t stop any if it for the hopes it brought an end to Moriarty. This was John’s goal he had hoped to accomplish, but he didn’t really think it was possible until it was brought right before him.  

                “Well I certainly have been bothered by him in public as of recent, and I had no inkling that you were enamored with me, but thank you for your support. The tea is good by the way.”  Sherlock smiled into his abyss. There they sat with their tea, a bit of domesticity running between them. It was almost nice for him to think about it. There was a possibility they could have a semblance to a normal life.  

                “Well, have you decided what you will be wearing for your date?” Then Sherlock threw him a fast one. This was certainly unexpected, and yet he expected nothing less from the high functioning psychopath.

 

 

                Sherlock knew John would be thrown off and ashamed of himself for it. Sherlock felt terrible for neglecting and then being accusing of John the night before. To top the list off, he had almost burnt the kitchen down, destroying a few kettles John used every morning. Sherlock could only clean up and go out to replace what was lost in the hopes to recover some social terms with John after the mess he made. However, when he came into the flat with his peace offerings, he had noticed John brushed his hair with a brush that had thin bristles, the kind he uses to look his best before formal occasions. John had also scrubbed under his nails, and used mouth wash after brushing his teeth. This was uncommon for John to use mouthwash, unless he had a date planned for later. John was reading his book after self-grooming took place, meaning he finds it a release from the ever present idea of his date later. This means he isn’t looking forward to it, but yet he wants to be very presentable for the event. The fact he hadn’t chosen an outfit meant he was likely going to a non-formal event, but all in all, his company would be very high standard. This only pointed to one person, and that was Jim Moriarty, the criminal mastermind behind so many illegal activities around the world. Sherlock decided then that he should trust in John and see where it was headed. Perhaps this could ruin Moriarty and put an end to their game, but what would he do when there was nothing left to do? Either way, John looked started and ashamed of not realizing beforehand he would be found out, and Sherlock loved it so dearly.

                “What am I bloody going to do with your bloody proper geniuses?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked, loved, hated, or wants to wish me good in school, you can do so by commenting below!!!  
> Kudos are always appreciated and will help me through this hard time in school and writting.
> 
> You can learn more about me and review my fanfiction on my page:
> 
> https://www.facebook.com/Spinningthreads.weavingwishes
> 
> Reviews and other cute comments on here or Facebookland would make my day and help me strive forward while I take college courses. 
> 
> Either way, thanks my lovelies!!!!!!


	10. What If I don’t want to dance? Then We’ll watch others dance along the streets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So John decided to take the offer on the date. He was expecting something mechanic and step by step. The funny part is that what he gets is something he had been fighting the whole time against. John can actually let himself fall, to not be on guard, and let there be danger. One spin, two sips, and three whole kisses. 
> 
> See into my obsidian, and see for yourself where my demons hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooooh, fast update huh? Well I had two exams this week, several quizes in my online class, and an assignment, but there is stilll more to do!!!! I have to make an constant updated study guide for AMERICAN HISTORY II, and for College succes which my midterm for it is on the 9th - 14th. 
> 
> New notes for Astronomy, and only four more lectures till my final for AMHRY II. Last exam was Monday :b
> 
>  
> 
> Yet I had time to write for you Beautiful and lovely people!! 
> 
> I will plan on revising and updating up on this chapter to thicken it up, because I'm just not happy with the amount of fun they had at the fair. O>O   
> Also, there will be a very interesting new chapter updated soon, cough, cough. 
> 
> "He means I finaly get some oh Johnny Boy's-" -M
> 
> "I beg your Pardon?!" JW
> 
> One, do not spoil anything Moriarty, and John, don't worry about, nothing bad will happen, I swear. ;) 
> 
> Nothing at all. lol

It was 6:48 PM, at least that was what John Watson’s watch read to him. Sherlock was bustling about as John finished up the rest of the dinner, flicking the stove off and sliding the sautéed mess onto a plate for Sherlock. He slid a small bit for himself onto a light saucer. Sherlock took both of which into his hands, giving John a kiss on the cheek before setting them down on the table.

                “I wished you had cooked a little faster John, it is really pressing for time.” Sherlock’s face bloomed with delight as he took a bit of the sizzled up saucy pork. The clock read 6:51 PM, and the light was starting to recede.

                “Honestly Sherlock, I am making great time, and I hardly believe a date at the fair would require any such preparation. Besides, I can at least enjoy a light meal with my friend before heading out to war, right?” Sherlock nodded between bites, trying to take his time to enjoy the rare meal he partook in. It was nice to get him to actually sit down and dine for once. John hadn’t seen much of it lately.

The clock read 6:55 PM, and Sherlock insisted he brush his hair again. _The nerve of this bloke._

                “You act like I am being courted honestly. It is not like he has a thing for me, and besides, I’d rather sit and watch the tube.” Sherlock took John’s saucer to the sink, rinsing it off, making sure to scrub it before putting it on the new rack he replaced.     

                “John, I do believe you are quite amazing sometimes, but I really wish you’d let go for once and enjoy your night. If you don’t even want to go, then why are you?”  He huffed at Sherlock, checking his face in the mirror.

                “Because he shut down human trafficking around the globe simply for my disapproval of it.” Sherlock’s lips pulled into a smile, but before he could say what he wanted to say, John saw it was 7:00 PM, and the doorbell rang. They both stared at each other before racing down the stairs trying to get to the door first. Sherlock had won, and with that he opened it up to find Moriarty in more casual attire than usual.

                “Well hello Sherlock, I see things have lightened up between the two of you since I last saw you guys in the same room.” John made it gasping before catching the glance that shot between the two.

                “Yes, well I do hope you will return my blogger in one piece. I’m trying to be a bit more domestic, and I find it impossible to do so without him.” Moriarty smiled softly, his eyes casting over John with fondness. John didn’t want to admit he felt like smiling back.

                “Bloody alright, can we just go on with it?” They both nodded at him, leaving him to sigh once again before checking his phone.

                “Sherlock, I should be back later, but I won’t make any promises he won’t kidnap me or blow me up, but if anything happens, you have Mrs. Hudson’s number.” Moriarty shifted his arm around John’s wait as they headed out the door.

                “Ciao Sherlock.” Moriarty’s voice echoed throughout the walls.

 

They entered through the doors a much more moderate vehicle. Moriarty looked at him in confusion as he studied the interior.

                “Sorry, just got used to the posh you tend to drag.” Moriarty laughed a little into soda can he had pulled out from a cooler.

                “Yes, well I can’t have the Ice Man catching onto me all the time. Gladly the fair is not his expertise.” The car went into drive, and the city lights had just flickered on, lighting up their way, blurring into the pale sunset.

                “Oh I just can’t wait Johnny Boy, think of all the rides we’ll go on!” John rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest of smiles there either way. _What have I gotten myself into this time?_

 

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

                The lights of the fair greeted them with screams and a maze of shinning reflections. Laughter was inviting, the smell of food enticing, but John was sure it was all a clever ruse. John hadn’t gone to a fair in years, but that didn’t stop his amusement from toppling over. He wouldn’t let it show thoughMoriarty flashed a card over the ticket booth, receiving instant access for two admissions. . The would came crashing in as screams and excitement hit him like a tidal wave, merciless, and immense. It was like Pandora’s box had broken loose in the city. He almost lost sight Moriarty, but he quickly recovered and found the man not too far from him. Moriarty seemed to be scanning the area out. _Seems like Mr. Perfect hadn’t planned ahead for once._ They walked along the booths and games, watching people win prizes, lose, and decide they got bored already, opting out for rids or food that the rest of the fair had to offer their indecisive minds. Moriarty stepped over to the side to cash in a ticker to play some game that involved darts and famous celebrities. He stared at it, taking in all the bits and components of the game before attempting. He easily shot out two eyes, earning a point in the game, but the next round, he lost even when he could see Moriarty had correctly hit the target. The older man shook his head with a grin. Moriarty took out a note pad, making a note of something. _Someone is a sore loser._ Still, after defeat, he seemed to take it in stride, moving along to enjoy the thing he had worked so hard to achieve, a night out with John, and this made John pick his feet up to keep up with the man.

                “So Johnny Boy, do you like the Toppler? I hear it is a great addition to this year’s fair.” Moriarty turned to a booth to grab a map of the fair, trying to find his appraised ride.

                “It sounds fun, what does it do?” Moriarty scribbled a on the map, deciding their rout.

                “Shoots you into the air and topples you around in your seat. Seems very self explainatory huh?” This was weird to see Moriarty in a light that was actually enjoyable. He felt like he was more professional for once, perhaps a playful child?

                “Let’s find it then, I want to give it a go.” Moriarty liked the sound of it; his eyes swelled as they zigged zagged around the people in the crowd, almost having popcorn spill on him.   Lines of contestants swam around the different rides they just might go on after all. It wasn’t John’s forte, but he could at least try a few for the man. The machine was huge and looked like a spider with its legs crunched together, waiting to stretch out of its uncomfortable position. They stood in line for about thirty minutes before boarding into each of their own compartments, waiting to be lifted away. The machine shot up fast, swinging the around in circles, then spinning forward while each leg moved about. The lights hit along with the corny morbid music playing. Moriarty could be heard screaming in delight at the motion of gravity they experienced. _No doubt he has already lost it._   The legs lit up into different colors, and finally, John felt himself loosening up to the night he was dragged on. The ride stopped, spun them forward, spun, and then gently set them down to get off. A few people were wobbling, but they had seen worse for wear.

                “I will admit that was definitely fun. What should we do next?” Moriarty pointed over his head, causing him to turn around towards the bright wall. It was a fun house.. The kind Harry would leave him on to get out of having to watch him while the rents were drinking whatever they could find.

                “I promise this will be fun!” He had to take his word for it, walking up to the entrance with him. This one had no lines for them to wait in, which gave John a small bit of glee at least. Moriarty grabbed his hand into the land of funn. The floor shifted back and forth, making him uneasy.

They had the get over the moving conveyer belt to reach the upper stairs. There they reached a room with single panels you have to skip across to another isolated panel. Moriarty laughed a little as he almost fell over into the sheet that could take him back to floor one. He smiled at the notion, but wouldn’t let him see it. When they crossed, they had a puzzle to solve before a door opened, showing a maze of stairs for them to climb. It took them five minutes to find the right stairs to go up. _So many bloody stairs._

There they reached an open spaced room, but there was nothing particular about it, that was until he walked into glass. Moriarty laughed as he took John’s hand to show him the edges of the panel.

                “Haha, you have to make it through the maze.” He shook his hand off, stepping forward, determined to find his way out, only to need Moriarty’s help to get out. It was as if they were dancing, they would turn and twist with Moriarty leading the way. Finally they made way for the final flight of step, which were steep and frightening.  Moriarty was a step taller than him, so as John climbed ahead of him, Moriarty could still put his hands on his shoulders, reassuring him steadily. They came to a giant slide, where Moriarty laced his legs with Johns before pushing behind them, causing them to glide down in the spiral, and finally John started to enjoy himself. Laughter erupted from him, catching Moriarty off guard. Euphoria rushed between the two. Straightening themselves out, then they began walking around to get their bearings. Moriarty studied the map further, trying to decide what they would do next.

                “Not sure how much fun you can have now that you’ve been jumbled around.” He laughed at the notion, but excitement spread across his features when he saw the bumper cars. Moriarty looked over to the direction he had become engrossed in. Moriarty chuckled shaking his head no.

                “We are doing it, now come on.” He was starting to feel in charge finally. _Maybe this night won’t be so bad._  

It turned out Moriarty had issues with bumper cars. This became evident to John as operator strapped Han instant, kids and adults whooshing by them, colliding, but Moriarty was holding his breath, and John could see the anxiety under the skin. It was comforting to see even those like Moriarty were human at times. He still cried the same tears, had sincere smiles, and the ever present fear his eyes gave away. This looked was replaced with a very puzzled look right before when John crashed into him. He suddenly snapped out of it, showing he meant business.

                “Someone looks like they’re finally get a hold of it,” Moriarty smirked at the words before flooring it into him.  They laughed as John decided to back up, hoping to evade another collision with Moriarty, only to collide with someone else, and then Moriarty hit him. The lights switched off, and the electricity died out. They got out, but he felt himself become dizzy, but fortunately for him, Moriarty was right behind him, holding his right arm in support against the imbalance he experienced.  The lights lit up the paved paths along the fair, children and families laughed with food and prizes in their hands. The passed the booth from earlier, but it appeared to be closed.

                “Let me try another game please?” John sighed into his hand as Moriarty left his side to investigate a ball throw game with bottles to knock down.

                “Alright, but don’t get hurt when you don’t lose.” Moriarty smiled with a toothy grin as he put three tickets down, securing three balls. With precision, he knocked all the bottles down with the first ball. The vendor nodded in approval, resetting them for the next round. The next round took the remaining two balls to knock them all down.  He placed down three more tickets, to which he used the next two balls to win the round. He pointed to the huge black bear. John was not shocked, but he did blush at the prize Moriarty won for him.

                “I knew you could do it. Now, let’s just enjoy the scenery shall we?” Moriarty smiled into his arms, careful not make it hard for him to hold the bear. _I could lie, but this is nice._

                “Did you now Johnny boy? That this was a good idea, huh?” John couldn’t help but to laugh at the dorkyness the evil villain was exerting tonight.

                “Yes James, I think this was an amazing idea. We should definitely do this next year when they come back in town.” Moriarty looked at the sky while he let out a cloud of sighs. They drifted overhead of them, passing the other patrons of the festives, on to some unknown destination.

                “Well I’m glad that this has been nice for you so far.” John laced his fingers together with his, finding silence to spread between them, allowing the crowd to come and go. For the first time, he felt like everything was still, like time had stopped, the world was quiet and yet bustling with more life than he had ever experienced before. Moriarty led him to a much calmer area. There he saw it, the hugest Ferris wheel. Along its yellow tainted white beam were gorgeous lights. The air was light in the sense he could feel patches of heat drift along cold ones. The man in the conductor’s outfit took their tickets, and Moriarty offered his hand to help him on the raised platform. Not any people were in line. They managed to get their own cart away from the other families with screaming kids and energetic lovers.

                “You know John, I am not usually so easily entertained, but here we are.” John looked over the railing to the lights below them, the yelling ants that moved about like ocean currents.

                “I usually don’t go out on little outings with dangerous criminals, but I could get used this scenery we have here,” Moriarty smiled softly, looking over John’s feature with a calm expression. John could not quite pin point what the motion was, but it didn’t matter, because he had time to further deduce it. 

                “The first night we met and I don’t mean at Bart’s or the Pool, but in the alley way where you found me with all of my walls down, I couldn’t comprehend what I was feeling. There was this air about you, it was as if the night was stitched in your words, and they held me captive to you.” He leaned into him, his lips pressed softly to the curvature. They parted for him as hands crossed into his hair.  The heat between them was burning at the touch, engulfing him in its flames. The John looked up into his eyes, blackness spread across them like a dye drop in water, displacing and encompassing, solidifying quickly into obsidian. Moriarty took notice when John took a sharp intake of breath.

               “Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.” The clouds broke enough for the moonlight to break free into their carriage, the beams reflecting on moriarty’s eyes, and within them, tiny stars reflecting back at the intrusive light.

                “So beautiful, it almost looks like sandstone.” He brought his finger tips to the curve of Moriarty’s cheek, only to be greeted with smile. The ride stopped, and they were atop of the wheel. _Bloody bloke probably paid someone._

                “Strange chance huh John?” He didn’t reply to those words, instead, he rose into Moriarty’s parted lips, just as he had months before when he had found him in an alleyway, broken and abandoned by the world. The scars were still there, but Moriarty hadn’t gotten rid of them like he did the rest. _Isn’t sentiment supposed to be a weakness?_  His stomach was rude, interrupting them with a loud obnoxious noise.

                “I think we’ve had enough fun for tonight, and besides, I’m getting hungry, and I wouldn’t want to spoil what you had planned for dinner.” Moriarty looked like he was in thought as he quickly typed away at his phone. The ride continued on until it let them off. They maneuvered around the crowd.

               “You are going to love what I have planned.” He smiled to himself, only wondering what has going to happen next. They entered a more casual vehicle, different from the one they arrived in. There they waited to be dropped off a flat somewhere he had no clue to. Moriarty was quite in the dark, the street lights rolling over them.

 

                The outside of the flat was tall and layer up in older brick. Time scared on them like pages in a history book. He was ushered in the flat; the walls casted with a soft glow collected of several candles alight on window sills, fireplace mantle, and a few end Tables. Immediately Moriarty started towards the kitchen.

                “You can make yourself at home, I will be just a little bit.” From the corner of his eyes, he could see Moriarty shedding his over shirt, hat, and other excess articles of clothing. Humming soothed through the kitchen to the sofa John had taken shelter on in the huge flat. The sounds of a sauce pan sizzling made him upturn his head to where Moriarty was apparently cooking. The smell of whine bursted into the air as it crackled up. His stomached begged for preview, but he knew he might get chasted for sneaking around the kitchen. A microwave sounded, ticking away till it beeped. The smell of garlic and butter mingled in with the previous scents.   A half hour later, he saw Moriarty arrive from the kitchen with two plates, steak, Alfrado, and Garlic bread placed eloquently on them. Instantly his mouth was watering, and his stomach was happy to finally have food. His fingers stumbled with his knife and fork, tearing into the meat, only to see it blossom into reds and browns.

                “Had no Idea you could cook, but I will say I’m impressed.” Moriarty smiled as  bite into the garlic bread. _Alright, so he’s not a vampire._

                “You honestly wound me Johnny Boy. I would hope you had higher expectation, but that is the point of this date. You know, to know each other more.” John perked up as he ate. Moriarty set his utensils down in sudden realization.

                “Oh my, I almost forgot the drink.” He rushes out of the room, only to come back with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses in hand. John sighs in creamy alfrado.

                “I thought you agreed to leave alcohol out of this venue of our?” Moriarty brushed the words off a he set the glasses down, twisting out the cork, and letting a down pour of lush reds fill his cup.

              “This is different Johnny, because we’re here safe at my flat, and not carelessly getting drunk in some restaurant.” _I guess I can let this slide._ He takes his glass in defeat.

                “Alright, besides, your taste in wine goes well with what you cooked. I expect nothing less than complimentary.” Moriarty smiled, nodding at the notion. The flavors mixed together in harmony, his mouth a testimony, and hi body becoming warm to the fire in his veins.

                “I learned to cook from my mother. She was an Italian woman who had moved to Ireland in search of her elusive lover she later on married. _Sort of strange to think he had a mother._

                “Sounds like you were taught by an artisan, my compliments to your lineage. My mother only ever cooked pancakes and burnt eggs, and that was only on Sundays after last night’s fight. Either way, I learned to cook eventually on my own.” Moriarty smiled to himself, making John’s eyes to linger more. He picked up his glass and took a few more sips to the wine. The candles flickered softly.   Moriarty seemed to have taken his fill of the food and excused him for a second to put his plate away.

                “I want to play you something. Is that alright?” John contemplated it for a moment, but nodded anyways. Moriarty moved to a cloaked piece of furniture, pulling at the cloth, and revealing an old grand piano lacquered black, keys made of silver. Moriarty sat down and began to play at the keys. He washed more of the wonderful dinner down with wine, almost emptying his glass. Moriarty’s glass rested on the piano to his right. _This seems surreal truly. Almost familiar, like I’ve heard this before._ He poured another glass a little over halfway. His food was almost gone, only a small bite of garlic bread and alfrado remained. He nestled back into the couch with his wine. He could almost feel the remorse and warm heat from the music. The air played out a scene, and by hi second glass was drowned out; he rose to his feet, making his way to the bench to sit down. Moriarty looked at him carefully, not breaking his composure. The shadows stretched and twisted horribly to the candles. Carefully, he lulled his fingers in the same rhythm of Moriarty, merging two ranges, creating a harmonic law. The music sounded like angle bells to him, of pain, regret, and salvation. Moriarty closed his eyes in pleasure and bliss as John kept up with his playing, fingers dancing around on the cold silver keys. John could feel the alcohol spreading more and more into his system, but the composition of the keys kept him sober enough to play. Moriarty leaned over to kiss him as their speed quickened, deepening the kiss, and breaking, only to crash back into each other, the key are being rapped at as they are hit faster and faster, then Moriarty in one frail swoop, lifts him to him to his feet to take his hand in his, outstretched to the living room, their feet waltzing about into harmony a the music still continues from where they had been. His feet are light to touch of the floorboards. Moriarty helped himself to the lead. Their eyes locking In and out with grace. The touch of his hands was burning his skin.

                “You’re so beautiful John. I can almost feel your heart between my fingertips.” He lost himself in a haze with him. He hadn’t lot himself to dancing since the last Culture Festival. That was the night he saw Moriarty in a whole new light. He saw him vulnerable, weak, broken, and all of his walls were crumbling down. Just like the state he was in, with one touch he could crack that mask, and withdraw a face none have ever seen before their oldest eyes. The music slowed, tapering off, dying from his ears, and they themselves slowed to almost a stop when John pulled Moriarty to his lips, allowing himself to break the mask. Moriarty’s eye’s darkened, revealing the pure blackened jewels from before. The music died. Moriarty started with his lead to the bedroom, but stop to wave his hand in the direction of the candles, to which in response blazed harsh for a few seconds, then diminished into smoke, bathing them into darkness. His head felt light and heavy at the same time. He would be lost in all sense of direction if Moriarty hadn’t been leading him to the bedroom. The door made no protest as he stumbled to the bed and planted down on the bed. Moriarty shifted as he stripped more layers of his clothing, reminding John not to sleep in his clothes. He tried to but made only half the progress before Moriarty decided to help him.

                “You are the beautiful one. I find myself unable to comprehend what   
I’m feeling, or what it is you are feeling, and what you get out of this.” Moriarty brushed up against him, conforming his body to John, wrapping John in his arms.

Moriarty’s features grew grim and painful, as if he was in a war with himself, being torn apart into bits, until there was only a graveyard for the world to find in its place.

               

 

“See into my obsidian, and see for yourself where my demons hide.” _Maybe then you wouldn’t think for a second that I was anything of remote beauty._ Moriarty felt those thoughts come with revelation.  John shook his head, denying any of his proclamations, demanding a different truth. _My silly army doctor, we can’t have out little fantasies, but yet here you stand, trying to make something real of me other than wrath and destruction, but this just will not suffice._  

 His lips pressed to John’s forehead. John was laying with his head back, the world simmering out of the room.

                “It’s you John. It’s always been for you.” Moriarty brushed his fingertips to John’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like this chapter?   
> What were your thoughts?   
> Any suggestions of how you think things will play out soon?   
> Do you like how I wrote? 
> 
> If any of these apply to you, please comment, review or post on my facebook page
> 
> https://www.facebook.com/Spinningthreads.weavingwishes?fref=ts
> 
> "Just make sure to at least leave kudos, so this stressed out, love life fucked up gay boy can smile and push forward, k? Thanks." -JW
> 
> "Oooooh, Johnny Boy, being aggressive are we?!?!" -M


	11. Dancing In Your Bed Sheets. For once, I’m the disheveled mess.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, SMUT,SMUT, SMUT, 
> 
> CONTIANS GAY SEXUAL INTERACTIONS!!!!   
> don't like? Then why are you even on this chapter? lol I <3 yhu!!!!! 
> 
>  
> 
> Moriarty has to deal with the hot and bothered drunken retired Army doctor, will he cave in and take advantage, or will be be courteous and that of a saint??? Let's find out shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far, and to celebrate almost making it to 1K readers, I'd like to give you the much deserved SMUT!!!!
> 
> Sorry about yesterday, I was a bit hormonal, and I still am, just not those hormones. 
> 
> Either way, just enjoy this one for me k? Also, let me know especially what you thought about this one, because I think I'm good at SMUT at and sex, So I want to know how well I did, and if I need improving, and on what. 
> 
> ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                John was in his bed, drunk, hot, and bothered. Moriarty didn’t know if he was pleased with the sight, or worried that John might have had too much.

                “Hey, you have beautiful eyes.” John stammered as he laid halfly on Moriarty, panting as if he was trying to cool down. The room was at seventy degrees, but that didn’t stop the heat that was spreading. John had taken to letting his hands trail along his chest, the fingers dragging back harsher than the upwards climb. Moriarty felt excited, but at the same time ashamed John was drunk while being this affectionate. He wanted John stone cold sober, and reacting to whatever he’d  might do.  John seemed to know what he was doing, making small little circle with his clipped short nails. 

                “Her Morairty, wanna show me how bad you really are?”Moriarty took a painful intake of air. _Was that a sexual innuendo?! Oh God Johnny Boy, please leave me with some dignity for you to wake up to tomorrow._

                “John, you should get some sleep, you probably want to be able to get up and have breakfast in the morning.” John started half laughing into his chest, a grin stretching as  he clutched the sheets to hlp him look up to Moriarty.

               “But I wanna eat breakfast right now with you.” The stare he received triggered the chemical reactions in his brain, and with them, he felt himself grow a little hard, straining to stiffen more against the sexy disheveled weight above him. _Where the Hell did that come from?!_    _I had no idea you were so Wanton Johnny Boy._

                “Please, I advise we not do this right now, okay John?” John pouted like a wounded puppy, practically begging for anything resembling intimacy. He could not let himself do this. Sure he murdered people, but most of them probably had deserved it for a long time before he had showed up, but to take John while in the marvelous state he was in now would be a shame to the marvel that John’s body was. John deserved warm soft caressing, a full lit room, and to be fully aware of whatever it is he was doing, or what was being done onto him. _I cannot help, but to believe this is directly all my fault._

John took his hand in his, nursing it to his lips, a small tongue reached out to give his fingertips a lick.

                “And I advise you fuck me, because, because of doctor’s orders.” With that, he took a few fingers into his mouth, suckling them slowly.  John’s mouth was warm, his tongue sliding around the individual fingers. He’d withdraw them, letting them drag on it, only to be placed back in. It made him stiffen harder, unable to focus. It was this loss of focus that made it easy for John to shift and position himself over the fingers. Before Moriarty could stop him, his fingers entered the heat of John’s body, sliding against the tissues in a hard blush. He decided he hadn’t the choice, so he took control, trying make a second finger slip in. Once he managed it, John let out a moan against it, pushing into it. Moriarty felt his face burn harsher, feeling John open up more to him. That was when he felt John tugging at his boxer s, trying to free his swollen member.

                “Looks rather painful Daddy, mind if I relieve it?” Moriarty could swear he felt his nose bleed a little in the slightest as John looked up at him with his leaking cock pressed against face, trying to look innocent. He pursed his lips at the attempt to reply, but was hushed by John who put a finger to his lips. He could hear the sound of a click his mouth made when he stuck his tongue out to flick the tip, catching precum on the bed fungiform, closing his eyes to savor it. _Please don’t make that face, because I might not last long Johnny._ John popped the head in his mouth, playing with the underside with his tongue. With small bobbing motions, he outstretched his tongue along the shaft, catching trails of saliva, making it easier for him to take more in his mouth. He turned his head, making his mouth swirl around the shaft, while he tenderly massaged what of the shaft he couldn’t fit. John gagged and choked on it, being that it was his first blow Job, but he was determined to do a good job as what Moriarty could tell. The heat spread over his length, and a twitch to John’s ass reminded him of where two of his fingers were. He began to move them a little more, taking them out to add a little saliva, making it wetter. John’s ass felt soft to him, virgin and pure. He’d let a third finger to lightly linger in the entrance when the other two were curving and twisting, massaging John’s prostate. It felt good when John moaned on his cock, sending vibrations up the member. He could feel him pouring with pre as John smiled into him, licking tenderly at his cock.

                “Johnny Boy, that feels really good. Want to make Daddy come?” John smiled at him playing along with it, giving Moriarty a deep suck while kneading John’s ass harder. John moaned and gagged at it while Moriarty was buried deep in his throat, saliva coating what wasn’t being sucked on. He felt fire burning through his balls, they started to tighten, and he was panting himself, trying desperately to warn John, but he couldn’t form actual words well enough to tell him, but John must have known what he was trying to say, because he quickened his administrations, thumbing the base of cock while flicking the tip whenever he’d withdraw far enough. Moriarty felt the orgasm almost erupting from him, John could feel him tighten harder than he had been able to earlier, showing he was indeed about to blow. John readied himself, trying to think of how to finish him without complications, but ended up with Moriarty slam the entirety of his cock down John’s throat, shooting how gushes of come down it while Moriarty rocked slightly against the muscles, hoping to drain his cock, but it kept pumping more and more. John tried to wait it out, but choked, sending his cock shooting out of his mouth while the last little bit spurted on his cheek. John had a little come spilling out from the corner of his lips, running down to his chin while he tried to swallow the mouthful carefully. Moriarty was utterly spent, but almost got hard again when he witnessed John swishing a little of his come over his taste buds. John wiped his chin, licking up the remainder, his hard blush fading, and his eyes showing more clarity.            “Well, looks like someone sobered up real quick. Now what do we do with you?” John was startled as Moriarty flip him over, turning the tables on him. Moriarty got up to retrieve a dildo hidden in one of the droors In the vanity. It was soft and clear like tap water. John’s eyes widened as he revealed it from behind his back.

                “Now, it’s time to really take care of you Johnny Boy.” John shook his head no in protest, scared he wasn’t ready. John hadn’t even bled while fingering him, which showed he was well relaxed, and after the stretching his fingers did, he was sure to be prepared enough. Moriarty opened his mouth, letting a trail of held back saliva fall over it considerably, his fingers working evenly over the soft toy.

                “Don’t worry Johnny, Daddy knows what he is doing. Trust me alright?” Moriarty pulled John’s red briefs off just enough to expose his hole to the open air. John bit his lip with Moriarty positioning it just inches away from his puckered hole. John let out a sigh and nodded for him to continue with it. Moriarty let himself smile in victory, feeling satisfaction wash over him. The dildo was very smaller than what his own cock could get to be if he let his true form show, but he still was entranced as he watched the head slid in through the cute muscles, John trembling under the molded veins that marked the toy. He twisted it, trying to get it to go in smoother, making Johnny to moan louder, John’s prick poking out of his red briefs. He twisted the head between his thumb and index finger, rolling out the pre that had been seeping out for the past half hours.

                “Amazing Johnny, seems like you were getting off just sucking me, and now we have the main course.” John bucked into the dildo, try wiggle more in, but Moriarty would slid some out to keep it at the length inserted.

                “Un uh, nope, I’m in charge now John. Have to listen to Daddy’s orders now.” He pinched the taint of the briefs, tugging the rest of them down. Once off, he took John in his hands, massaging the length in the hopes to spur him more. His other hand took to twisting the toy in circles, making him moan into it. Moriarty’s face was laced with hunger, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to devour this meal just yet, no that was for a more special occasion, and this was just a taste of what was to come.

John moaned little tangible bits of more with the motions his body was making. He started to push more of it into John, making John sigh in relief at the sensation of him being filled more and more. He took the head in his mouth, licking at the head, letting his tongue split and fork, wrapping the ends around the corona, teasing the frenulum. With a harsh blow, he slammed the remaining three inches in, causing John to crash his hips upwards into Moriarty’s mouth, only to fail in going much deeper than it had already been. John was wide and thick, surely impressive for a human, but not surprising for someone as remarkable as John. His knee pressed the hard  base against John, keeping the toy in place, also  allowing him to recede it so he could slam into in harder. John bucked and bucked around the routine. _Someone is liking daddy’s treatment._ He replaced his hand with the knee, fingers clutching the round and wide base, so he could steadily fuck John with it, little bits of John’s bodily oils shimmered on the toy, making it slicker with each thrust. Moriarty was good for himself, because wasn’t getting hard since he was getting mental satisfaction from it, and not physical. He wanted to see John as pleased and fucked as he deserved without losing his virginity just yet. John moaned, screaming out at Moriarty to go faster and harder at his throbbing asshole. Then he stopped stroking and fucking him altogether, leaving John to look up startled.

                “Now what do we say when we wanna come Johnny Boy?” John’s face looked puzzled for a few seconds until realization came onto him hard. John looked as though he didn’t want to beg for it, that he’d rather just let Moriarty do it so he could just say it wasn’t his choice, but Moriarty knew he was caving, because his member was looking more and more painful by the second. John’s face crashed instantly in a hot combustion.

                “Please let me Come Daddy, I wanna come so bad.” Moriarty took the payment, his fingers pulling at the toy, twisting it and then fucking it into John. His hands caressing his prick faster and harder, matching that with the dildo, his mouth suckling at the head. John Moaned harder, screaming fuck me. The sight alone almost made him come himself for seeing John in such a disheveled state. In one hard slam, the dildo knocked into John, causing him to shoot off strings of come, John’s face twitching and moving while he shifted his neck around, his legs writhering under the Lovely cock, his lower body convulsing with come.

 

John moved his hand to grab the dildo, but Moriarty slapped his hand away. _No way am I not going to get away with a few pictures._ He reaches over to his phone, unlocking it, he makes sure the camera light is on, illuminating John’s abused ass even more. He moves it closer to the clear transparent dildo, giving the camera a clear view into John. The phones makes several clicks as he hits the captures button, the phone taking several pictures at once in the hopes to improve photo quality. The soft blushes and pink rings inside John looked delicious and wet. He pulled on the dildo slowly, making John pant at the feeling of the pressure recede from him, gasping and letting out a huge sigh when the rest popped out of his swollen body. His phone took a quick snap of his fleeting gaping beauty. _Even when you are a mess, you look like beauty and purity. I don’t believe I deserve someone as beautiful as you. There is no way there is room in that heart for something like me._

The toy bounces off the bed and onto the floor, Moriarty rolled over gasping for air, trying to calm his vitals down. John smiled at him, his eyes holding compassion for the monster he was.

John climbed on top of him, laying his head on Moriarty’s chest. Moriarty wrapped his arms around John as John had started to himself.

                “Please stay inside me Love. It feels empty without you.” He knew John meant both figurative and literally, so he complied as he shifted a hand over to slip between John’s cheeks, placing two loving fingers in. _Trust me, you have no idea what empty is. For someone who doesn’t have a heart, it feels so heavy with you in its place. Please don’t leave Love, it is empty without you._ The darkness overcame them, pulling them in its murky hold.

                The sunlight filtered through the window, kissing John’s face softly. John felt warm and safe, like the world was standing still. He could hear someone breathing, and it was nice, lovely actually. He could even feel their breathing on him. _Wait, why is someone breathing on me?_ He slowly opened his eyes to see a naked Moriarty come into view.  He wanted to open his mouth to scream, but he felt like he could only feel half afraid, letting himself recover his surrounding quietly. Moriarty was snoring to be exact, and John was despising it entirely. He started to wiggle free, only to become aware of the hands that were holding his bare ass cheeks. _Fuckin tosser better not of taken advantage of me while I was a little knockered._  He shifted his hands in the hopes to free his ass from the hands, only to discover two of Moriarty’s fingers were inside of him. He suddenly felt embarrassed, feeling his face burn. Moriarty shifted, showing he was wakening up, his eyes fluttering open to John.

                “Did you take advantage of me while I was drunk you tosser?” Moriarty instantly facepalmed with his free hand, the other still inside John. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want, you may comment, kudos, review or simply like my page if you want lol.   
> Come learn more and experience more of me on my page, comment, review, etc. 
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> Don't worry, I'm not as hormonal today, filled with thirst for blood and justice for the work I put into it lol. 
> 
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